


Carousel

by Kalael



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Minor Character Death, Multi, Multiple Pairings, Suicide, multiple AUs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-22
Updated: 2013-10-11
Packaged: 2017-11-22 00:09:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 22,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/603600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalael/pseuds/Kalael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An ongoing series of ROTG drabbles ranging from angst to fluff.</p><p>Jack Frost is an eternal teenager with three centuries of history and tragic backstory, and there are plenty of tales he will never tell.</p><p>(Jack-centric with a few diversions)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1-5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some drabbles relate directly to my other short fic, ‘Sons Are Like Birds’ (along with the follow-up to that, 'Promise What You Will'). Some have nothing to do with each other and some are directly connected to each other. Italicized lines are the song lyrics that inspired the following drabble. Tags will be updated as more drabbles are written.

_01\. The party don’t start ‘til I walk in_

One of the perks of being an immortal teenager without a chaperone was that Jack could cause as much trouble as he wanted to without being scolded. With great power came great responsibility, and Jack was responsible for a lot of crazy shit. He was always careful because it wasn’t fun when someone got hurt, but wreaking havoc in broad daylight was his favorite pastime. Slipping pedestrians into each other on the sidewalks, changing the expressions on snowmen, creating awesome snow days for squealing kids, it was all in a days’ work.

It would have been worth it, too, if just one person could have said ‘thank you’.

 

_02\. Mother forget me now that the creek drank the cradle you sang to_

Spring is an unhappy affair. The ground has warmed enough to till the soil for planting, and it goes unspoken that the ground must be broken for another reason. They stand in a half-circle around the grave and Jack’s absence is noticeable, a heavy weight across their shoulders that seeps into their spines and infects their bodies. Jack’s sister presses flowers into the soft dirt mound and Jack’s mother wraps a scarf around the cross, and Jack’s father is a strong man but he leaves tears at the altar when the priest leads them in prayer. Someday grass will grow over the grave and someday they will follow him beyond.

(Someday Jack will remember watching his own funeral and he will cry like his father once did.)

 

_03\. I miss the scratch of your unshaven face on my cheek_

You cannot hold onto anything that wants to leave, so Jamie let Jack go when the Guardian realized that Jamie was growing up. It was a stupid mistake and when they meet years later, Jamie a college student and finally on even ground with Jack, they laugh even as they kiss. It’s a sort of love that transcends any human relationship and while Jamie grows ever older, his young eighteen year old face sharpening and maturing through 20, 25, 30, Jack is forever eighteen. Jamie lies under thick layers of blankets and Jack rests over the sheets, barely touching them, but their hands are clasped tightly together while Sandy sends them golden hearts for their dreams.

Time for an immortal passes by far too quickly and Jack wakes up one morning to the sound of wet coughing and the hiss of an oxygen tank. He holds Jamie through sickness and health and knows that there isn’t much time left for them. There is a shadow of a little boy imprinted into his brain and wherever he looks the boy is there, running further and further away from him until he’s just a floater in Jack’s eye, the Last Light and the First Light all at once and Jack thinks ‘so this is what heartbreak is’.

Jamie never stops believing but he does start to forget, so when Jack visits him for the last time the little old man on the hospice bed gives him a bemused smile and says, “I didn’t think angels wore hoodies.”

Jack laughs and Jamie laughs and his final moments are filled with the joy that Jack’s powers bring. The laughter fades quietly and the heart monitor goes flat and then it’s just Jack in that little room, because Jamie has finally gone someplace where Jack can’t follow.

The nurses don’t figure out where the pearlescent hailstones came from, but when they melt they smell like saline.

 

_04\. Sometimes you don’t die quick just like you wish you’d done_

It’s 1892 and Jack is in London, standing in the St. Pancras tube station as he watches one of the relatively new electric trains pick up its passengers and leave. He had looked at the schedule and the next train wasn’t stopping here. He hesitates for just a moment, then gingerly floats down onto the tracks.

He’s seen people do this before. They waited for the train that wouldn’t stop, and they would leap onto the tracks. Their last vision was of an incoming light barreling through the tunnel. It was an easy way out, because this way the light would come to them and the journey to the other life was instantaneous.

He envies their quick deaths.

He is two centuries too old and the train barreling towards him won’t slam on the brakes like it would for a real human being. Jack spreads his arms wide and wonders what the impact will feel like.

There is no impact.

He hadn’t been expecting one, not really. The train passes through him and it feels like someone is breathing into his ribcage. It’s unpleasant and disappointing, and when the train has gone by Jack lowers his arms. He sucks in a breath through clenched teeth, holds it, then exhales a foggy cloud. He imagines that the fog is filled with his anger, and that none of it is left inside him. As his breath dissipates, so does his fury.

His anguish is a wailing gust and a woman shrieks with laughter as his scream picks up her hat and tosses it down the platform. Jack disappears from the station and for the rest of the week the stations are closed as one of the worst snow storms London has ever seen covers the train tracks with frost.

 

_05\. Mother remember the blink of an eye when I breathed through your body_

He is a ghost who leaves no footprints behind him although the snow is to his knees and his feet are bare. He skims along frosted rooftops, pressing hard, but ghosts’ toes make no impression.

Someday, Jack Frost promises himself, he will leave tracks wherever he goes.

(Three centuries will pass before he realizes he already has.)


	2. 6-11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I switch headcanons for Jack’s age, going between 14 and 18 depending on what I feel like writing. I will never write underage relationships so if Jack’s age is not explicitly mentioned in a relationship drabble, please assume that he is physically 18.

_06\. This is the way it ends, this is the way it’s meant to be_

In the little colony of pink humans there is a girl who looks like him when she smiles. She stands by his pond and talks to someone who isn’t Jack Frost, but he likes to pretend that she is. He loves her fiercely, even though she isn’t his. She belongs to another Jack, a Jack who rests under a pile of stones and a wooden cross. The wind tugs at his clothes and in the rasp of cracking ice and melting snow is the whisper of ‘it’s time’. Jack Frost can’t go without saying goodbye. The little girl smiles through her tears and Jack Frost hopes that his gift of ice flowers on the stones of the other Jack is enough to say ‘I love you’.

(He never sees the little girl again.)

 

_07\. Oh lonely hands grab my suitcase full of nothing_

There is a whole world to explore and years go by before he returns to the pond he calls home. The wind is an obliging companion if not a talkative one, but Jack chatters enough for the two of them. He travels across a wide of expanse of blue that strikes fear into his heart and the wind carries him higher, hiding him in the clouds until mountain peaks rise around him. He can understand every language and it’s like music to his ears, wind whistling through trees and laughing children. He flies through cramped alleys and naps on rooftops and travelling is a comfort because at least it’s his excuse for why he has no friends.

He never stays in one place for long because he grows attached so easily, even to children that walk right through him. When the storms leave and Jack goes with them, the wind carrying him along, the only baggage he carries is the heavy sense of loneliness.

 

_08\. This is the sound of one voice, one people, one voice, a song for every one of us_

Frostbitten fingers and ice-numbed toes don’t feel a thing and they’ve gone near blue, his skin’s so pale that veins of ice are visible just underneath. He’s got eyes the same color of a shadow on snow and when the clouds pass the moon he’s just a little snowflake fleeting by in the storm, with a laugh like wind and hailstone tears. He’s a cloud in summer and a blizzard in winter, he’s a promise to children that Christmas will be white, he’s that twinkle in a boy’s eye as he packs a snowball.

Bunnymund won’t admit it but he’s thrilled for Jack Frost when the stories start to spread. Toothiana finds that more children have memories of Jack Frost than they should (and she scolds him for knocking out so many teeth). North is amused by the amount of requests for Jack Frost dolls and Phil the yeti is painstakingly careful with the embroidered frost on the doll’s sweaters.

Sandy is the proudest of all and he sends storms of golden snowflakes raining down over the sleeping children, ensuring that Jack will live forever in memories and dreams.

 

_09\. Leave me out with the waste, this is not what I do…it’s a small crime, and I’ve got no excuse_

Jack is talkative but only because it’s better than living in absolute silence. Some days he goes into the villages and listens to the people go about their lives, but in some ways that’s more painful than sitting by himself in the woods. He sings to himself, he talks to himself, he responds to himself. They can’t see him and they can’t hear him.  
Some days he shouts so loudly that frost bursts from his lungs and the villagers shudder at the icy breeze. Even these shouts go unheard, but when he cries it starts storms.

He learns not to cry anymore when the villagers bury their dead in his wake.

 

_10\. You’ve gotta keep your heart young, don’t go growing old before your time has come_

He is centuries old but he still carries a single baby tooth, a molar, and by the time Toothiana remembers this it is too late to make amends.  
(They hadn’t realized how young he’d been when he died.)

At eternal-fourteen he is gangly with a voice that changed before his body (a body that would never change now). When he was human he had pretended to be something more, using his voice to become a mighty king or a raging monster. The younger children ate it up. The pretty girls had turned up their noses only to find their dresses filled with icy snow.

Jack remembers the deep bone aching of his growth spurts and wishes he could be a man.

 

_11\. How can I help it if I think you're funny when you're mad, trying hard not to smile though I feel bad_

In another life he is Jackson Overland, his eyes and hair are brown, and he coaches hockey for kids. He attends college and has an Australian roommate who studies art, and his academic advisor is a former Hells Angel with ‘Naughty’ and ‘Nice’ tattooed onto his meaty forearms. His best friend is a flighty dental assistant, his mute uncle is the most amazing children’s book author of the decade, and he has a real family (a mother, a sister, a father, and they are his to keep this time around). The only Jack Frost he’s ever heard of is the silly little snow fairy in sparkly clown clothes and a stupid hat who premiers every December on ABC Family.

However, much like his mythical other-life counterpart, Jackson Overland is known for being a little shit.

“Jack!” His students wail as they chase him across the rink, 13 children bundled in hockey gear gliding clumsily on the ice. He’d promised them that if they could catch him, he would let them have the last twenty minutes of practice off for free skating. However as a former hockey player himself (with a brief and embarrassing stint as figure skater), Jack is more skilled on his skates than even his coworkers. He has a knack for it, and clumsy kids have nothing on him.

“Snowflakes!” He calls back teasingly, referring to their team name. Three of the kids had wised up and broke away from the group, trying to corner him. Jamie, Pippa, and Cupcake aren’t the best players on the team but they have the most heart (and really, what more can you hope for on the Squirts B team?). The terrible trio is closing in from one side and the other ten kids are coming from the other side and Jack stands in the middle, watching them pick up speed as they realize they have him.

They are just within reach when he glides out of the way, and there’s a collective shriek as they all crash into other in a big padded pile on the ice.

The kids are fine, they wear helmets and mouth guards even at this age (especially at this age), so the only thing that ends up bruised is their childish pride. Jamie and Cupcake lay miserably on the ice, buried beneath their friends. Pippa is the only one who escaped totally unscathed, having been the quickest to veer out of the way. Her gloved hands are latched onto Jack’s sweatshirt and he’s laughing at the sight his students make.

“Alright, you guys’ve won. You’re lucky Pippa is so quick on her skates, the rest of you guys should listen as well as she does so you can avoid mistakes like this again.” They all just groan.


	3. 12-16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AO3 formatting fucked this chapter over pretty hard so let me know if words seem to be missing or if there's a wonky style error.

_12\. He said "I am the devil, boy, come with me and we'll make many storms.” He offered me the universe, but inside my heart there's a picture of a girl_

Jack dances on electrical wires and sleeps on tall thin branches but he knows a bad decision when he hears one. Pitch is so earnest that he almost says yes, almost steps forward, but then reason kicks in and he recoils.

‘I’ll never be like him’ Jack thinks, even as he’s defeated and tossed away.

The memory of his sister only strengthens this resolve, and no matter how badly he wants to be believed in by the children of this world, he knows that once upon a time a little girl trusted him with her life.

 

 _13\. There’s a grief that can’t be spoken, there’s a pain goes on and on_

For an immortal, time jumps through portals and loops through itself. Entire years will go missing from memory and the only constant is that they themselves are undying. For humans time is linear, and it moves forward towards one point. Jack understands that they fear the passage of time, because the culmination of that linear pathway is death. But what Jack understands best are those who choose to stop moving forward.

It’s always an accident when he catches sight of them, and it’s always too late to stop them. Jack Frost is not a divine force of power and it’s not his duty to save them, though he probably would if given the chance. It’s never pleasant to watch people die and he always feels guilty when he finds the families afterwards. Not many people think about the afterwards for their families. Most humans don’t really think about the people around them when they make their decision, but Jack understands the selfishness.

If he were capable of dying, there wouldn’t be an ‘afterwards’. He doesn’t have a family who would miss him when he’s gone, and there wouldn’t be a headstone to mark his grave. Jack Frost doesn’t exist to anyone but himself, doesn’t have a purpose to make it worthwhile, doesn’t have the ability to stop moving.

Time for an immortal jumps through portals and loops through itself, and it keeps moving forever.

 

_14\. It’s a terrible love and I’m walking with spiders_

Once upon a time there was a little girl with a father who loved her very much. He held back monsters and locked up all the dark, scary things in the world so that she could be happy. He loved her so much, in fact, that when he thought she was in danger he threw himself in with the monsters so that he could save her. But she wasn’t in any danger, and the little girl lost her father forever.

Millennia pass by and the lost father remembers the days when he was happy, but his daughter has long since passed away and he is the king of everything he despises.

Pitch Black looks away from the child on the bed and calls back his shadows. He doesn’t feel like playing parts tonight. He goes home to an empty castle and sits in a room filled with dust.

(Once upon a time there was a little girl who trusted him with her life.)

 

_15\. All I want is the taste that your lips allow_

No one seemed to realize that Jack had never really kissed anyone before.

When he’d been human, a girl from the village had pecked him on the mouth before running away, giggling. The whole thing had confused him so much that he’d just walked home instead of chasing her. She had been mad at him after that because apparently he was supposed to chase her since that would mean that he liked her. He hadn’t understood and she remained angry at him until the day he died.

So when Tooth’s face gets really close and for once she’s not going on about his teeth, Jack just tries to keep eye contact. Her big eyes are so close that he ends up switching his stare from one eye to the next and praying that she doesn’t notice that his gaze is sweeping across the bridge of her nose. She’s not moving and Jack can’t blush because he’s a spirit, his cheeks just go cold.

Finally Tooth laughs (though Jack can’t imagine why) and her delicate hands are on either side of his face, catching the frost on his cheeks and pulling him in for a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Jack freezes, almost literally, because he’s flustered and Tooth shifts so that their lips are touching fully and it’s so warm.

She pulls back and Jack eyes her warily. “You aren’t going to run and make me chase you, right?” Tooth blinks a few dozen times, feathery eyelashes beating like bird’s wings, and she grins.

“Why would I run when _I’ve_ been the one chasing _you_?”

 

_16\. He offered me eternal life but inside my heart there's a picture of a girl_

Jack has a purpose now and he’s so incredibly grateful for this one thing that finally makes sense, but it doesn’t compensate for three hundred of grief or belated memories given in the form of 19 baby teeth (and it stung when Tooth mentioned his one remaining premolar that would never fall out). He had something beautiful a long time ago and maybe it could be within his reach again because despite all the odds he believes in happily ever after’s.

He could have eternity or he could have his family, and if he had to choose then he would take his family any day. If he had to wait another three centuries then so be it, but Manny couldn’t keep him forever.

(It takes a thousand years before Jack finally makes death bring him home.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Otherwise known as the section where I begin to draw parallels between Jack and Pitch. Feedback is always nice! And again, let me know if you'd like to see me expand on an idea in the future.


	4. Wintersong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The holiday special. Happy holidays you guys, and I hope that whatever you celebrate was amazing this year.  
> (AO3 likes to fuck with my text so please inform me of any spelling mistakes or style errors.)

_01\. The lake is frozen over, the trees are white with snow, and all around reminders of you are everywhere I go_

Jamie is too old to believe but he does anyway, and his children spend six hours making hundreds of Christmas cookies for Santa (the kids haven’t seen North yet, and this year they plan on camping out in the living room). His wife used to think he was crazy but now that she’s been married to her ‘idiot husband’ for eleven years, she helps out and even makes a special type of cocoa spiked with cinnamon whiskey. Although they are all excited for Christmas and presents, the kids are easily distracted when the promised snowfall on Christmas Eve arrives.

“Jack!” They shriek, and Jamie barely manages to get them all into coats and boots before they run outside. His wife comes up behind him and sighs as she leans against him.

“You know, I’m grateful that there’s a magical Guardian looking over our kids.” She starts, and Jamie quirks a smile. “But I do wish that he’d spread the ‘holiday cheer’ out a bit more. I really don’t like being the only township with four feet of snow.”

“And here I thought I was doing you a favor by keeping your cranky parents away!” Jamie jolts and his wife clutches onto his arm as Jack Frost floats overhead, grinning.

“Keep it up and we’re going to be the ones visiting them in Florida.” Jamie’s wife warns, and Jack pouts.

“Fine, I’ll cut back a little next year. I hope you made enough cookies for tonight, looks like everyone is going to be joining North due to a last minute workshop explosion.” Jamie wants to ask about it but the kids are calling Jack back to them, so the Guardian salutes the Bennett parents before flying off, laughing and chucking snowballs all the way.

 

_02\. It's late and morning's in no hurry but sleep won't set me free, I lie awake and try to recall how your body felt beside me_

Although Christmas wasn’t a holiday they celebrated a few millennia ago, the winter solstice had always been an important date. Presents were still exchanged and families were still gathered together for holiday celebration; Christmas had only given things a different meaning.

Pitch wasn’t a Christian, and he didn’t celebrate any of their holidays. He had no God and he had no savior; the religions of the world meant nothing to him. The winter solstice had some place in his shadowed heart, however, and he would not perform his usual tasks during the various winter holidays.

Instead he waited in the shadow outside of a church and listened to a children’s choir sing ‘Silent Night’. He had a ‘Christmas wish’, one that would never be fulfilled, and that was why he respected families on this night.

(Although prayer was useless, every year Pitch asked the moon for his daughter.)

 

_03\. And this is how I see you in the snow on Christmas morning, love and happiness surround you as you throw your arms up to the sky, I keep this moment by and by_

Jack’s father had gotten the news and he hurried home as fast as he could despite being several days out by horseback. He made it in time for Christmas despite doubts that he would make it that month at all, and the family sat in silence at a table set for three. The fourth chair was empty and Jack’s mother had set his place before realizing there wouldn’t be anyone there anymore. They had made too much food and there were only three pairs of shoes at the door.

They prayed in silence and the room was chilled despite the roaring fire in the hearth. Quietly, the Overland family ate their Christmas dinner. They had gone to church that morning and received their sympathy handshakes from the pastor and his wife and the other villagers. But as they left, the pastor had pulled Jack’s father aside.

_“Your Jack was a lively young boy. A good boy filled with joy. I’m sure he would be saddened to see his family so unhappy on this day.”_

As Jack’s father remembered this, his set aside his fork and got up from the table. Above the hearth was a pair of sticks that looked like antlers, something Jack had picked up one day and dragged home. Jack’s father stared at them for a long moment, then picked them up and raised them to his head.

It was silent for a while longer, the Overlands staring solemnly at one another although Jack’s father looked ridiculous with a pair of fake horns coming out of his head. Then, they began to laugh. Jack’s father roared and leaped at his daughter, who shrieked and ran to hide behind her mother. They ran about the small house, laughing and screaming as they pretended to fight one another.

Things would never be the same without Jack but in this way they could keep his memory alive, and that would have to be enough.

 

_04\. A sense of joy fills the air, and I daydream and I stare up at the tree and I see your star up there_

Jack was sitting in the eaves of a large church when he felt something sidle up next to him. He looked up in surprise to see Bunnymund crouched carefully beside him, looking a little nervous about the height but otherwise enthralled by the sermon that the pastor was giving.

“I thought you said you didn’t like Christmas.” Jack teased, carful to keep his voice low. There were a lot of children here that believed in him, and this wasn’t his night to cause trouble.

“I said I don’t celebrate it.” Bunny corrected, his eyes on the congregation below. “I’m not Christian an’ I never will be, but Easter’s changed meanings to some religions an’ a lot of Christians are on that boat now. Christmas is important to them, and the meaning of all this…” he gestured at the nativity scene behind the pastor, “is a good one. Love, peace, joy…that’s somethin’ we can all get behind, even if the religion isn’t our cup of tea.”

He fell silent and Jack watched him for a long time, wondering just how long Bunny had been at this to have this sort of view. Then he smiled and fell softly against Bunny’s side, feeling the Pooka tense before relaxing. A moment later a hesitant arm came around his shoulder and together they watched the congregation stand and sing Joy to the World.

 

_05\. Oh I miss you now, my love, merry Christmas, merry Christmas, merry Christmas, my love_

Jack tiptoed into North’s workshop, looking around with a frown on his face as he realized that the lights were turned off and the place was oddly silent. It was his first Christmas as a Guardian, which meant it was also the first year that he’d had access to the workshop at Christmas time. He’d expected more hustle and bustle now that the holiday was coming to a close. Feeling a little put out by the anticlimactic turn of events, Jack dropped his shoulders and sighed loudly.

Suddenly there were lights and fanfare and Jack shrieked in surprise, leaping into the air and grabbing the rafters. The other Guardians stared up at him, giant grins on their faces and wrapped boxes in their hands.

“Merry Christmas, Jack Frost!” They hollered, and Sandy sent off explosions of golden snowflakes.

“What is wrong with you people?” Jack called back at them. They just laughed and Tooth flew up next to him to hand him the small box that she carried.

“We just wanted to celebrate your first Christmas with you. As a family.” Jack stared at her, awestruck.

“As a family?” His voice was hoarse and he hated how she smiled all soft and knowingly at him.

“Yeah. You’re part of the family, Jack.” She pressed the gift into his hands and fortunately her headdress blocked the other guys from seeing Jack’s face because the last thing he wanted was for Bunny to see him crying. “Merry Christmas, Jack.”


	5. 17-20

_17\. I'll wear my badge, a vinyl sticker with big block letters adherent to my chest that tells your new friends I am a visitor here, I am not permanent_

North was the first to notice how Jack distanced himself from the rest of the Guardians. While no one expected Jack to be around all the time, they had thought that he would at least visit from time to time. Especially since North had given Jack access to the workshop all year round. It seemed as though Jack was actually trying to cut ties with them, and that was something North definitely wouldn’t allow.

He cornered Jack during one of his rare visits and bribed him into his office with cookies and chilled cocoa. Then the yetis put the office into lockdown. Jack, understandably, flipped his shit.

“Why am I locked in here?” Jack was on the verge of hyperventilation and North felt bad for resorting to literally locking them inside the office, but it was the only way to get Jack to stay put.

“You are avoiding us.” North stated simply. Jack was slow to hide his surprise and his averted gaze was a sure sign that he had been evading the other Guardians.

“No, I’m just…busy.” Was his weak response, and North raised his eyebrows.

“Busy? Tooth says her fairies find you napping, not working. The yetis say you have been in the north without saying hello. Why do you not come to greet me?” He was hurt by Jack’s coldness (with no pun intended) and Jack had the decency to look sheepish.

“I don’t want to be a bother, North. You guys have important things to do and I’m just…” He shrugged his shoulders, looking away again.

“You are also important, Jack.” North said. “You are a Guardian, and our dear friend. We make time for you whenever you wish it.”

Jack flushed, his cheeks frosting with embarrassment. “Well, Cupid says-“

“Nevermind Cupid, he is finding entertainment in misery!” North cut him off, fuming. Jack gave him a dumbfounded look and North shook his head. “He is the cause of heartbreak, Jack, and you are easy target.” Jack’s stunned expression began to make the shift to something self-depreciating and North had definitely had enough. He pulled Jack into a hug and sighed heavily.

“We want you here, so come by often, yes? You’re much appreciated.”

 

_18\. Just because it burns doesn’t mean you’re gonna die, you’ve gotta get up and try_

Jack Frost was only a few months old when he encountered summer for the first time. The experience was enough to frighten him away from even the sight of the sun for a few weeks. Moving into his fourth century of immortal life, Jack retains some fear of the summer warmth and spring makes him a little edgy.

So that’s why no matter how gorgeous the Warren is, he never stays for long. Bunny has grown used to the way Jack flits about like Tooth does during one her teeth-tirades, but he doesn’t like the way that Jack promises to help out and then bails the second he needs him.

“C’mon, mate, you just need to paint one batch!” Bunny explodes one day. Jack hovers uncertainly over the batch Bunny is referring to, glancing up at the sun.

“It’s hot, Bunny. Too hot for me.”

“Frost, you made it snow here last week. The temp’s been off since then.” Bunny reminds him. Jack flashes a smirk that is quickly replaced with a closed off expression. It’s weird, seeing Jack suddenly so vacant. The kid is always expressive, there isn’t much to hide now that they’ve known each other so long.

“Once it’s noon I won’t be able to stick around. The sun and the temperature combined aren’t good for me.” There’s a story to this, Bunny just knows it, but Jack doesn’t seem willing to tell it. Bunny shrugs and tosses a paintbrush his way.

“Good thing it’s still early then, aye? Get painting and you can hightail it outta here before the sun melts your delicate skin.” The gentle ribbing is enough to make Jack relax and Bunny feels more at ease as well. He’d get that story out of Jack someday.

 

_19\. Oh you’re in my veins, and I cannot get you out_

There were types of love that didn’t need sex to flourish, Jack discovered with a small amount of surprise. He was in love with someone very peculiar, someone he didn’t think he could ever be that physically intimate with in that way, but it wasn’t because it was strange or dirty. Jack just wanted to hold and be held and—weirdest of all—be domestic (if only a little a little at a time).

So he peppers Bunnymund’s face with little kisses, laughing when Bunny’s whiskers twitch against his cheeks in embarrassment and nuzzling into the thick ruff just over Bunny’s heart. The thumping is muffled but real and when their chests are pressed together Jack can pretend his own heart is beating too. They’re a weird pair and sometimes there are doubts because they’re just so different—but they aren’t too different, and when Jack’s hand is clutched tightly in Bunny’s paw the doubts all melt away.

 

_20\. Nothing goes as planned, everything will break, people say goodbye in their own special way_

Immortals don’t have to live forever if they don’t want to. There is a way out of everything, though it isn’t always pleasant.

Bunnymund had the choice to pass on when his clan had been decimated, but he decided to stay and become a future Guardian.

North had the choice when he grew too old to continue making toys on his own, but when given the ability to protect children as a Guardian he had gleefully continued on.

Tooth had the choice when the other Sisters of Flight all died, but the memories in the teeth had called too loudly for her to refuse them.

Pitch had the choice as well, and he could have allowed the nightmares to consume him, but it was for the sake of his daughter that he held the monsters at bay inside him.

Jack Frost hadn’t known that he’d had a choice, and spent three hundred years going about it in the wrong way. He had waited on train tracks, thrown himself from buildings, tied a rope around his neck, waited outside on the hottest day of the year in a desert somewhere in the Middle East. Each time he’d been thwarted by his immortality or his powers. It hadn’t occurred to him that there could be another way of doing it that wasn’t so physical.

Bunny’s expression is slightly jaded as he answers Jack’s question. “Y’can die from a lot of things, Jack, but y’can never take your own life. Most of us can regenerate should th’ worst occur, because once you become a Guardian, there’s no turning back.”

This is not what Jack wanted to hear and Bunny throws up his paws to cover his face as a gust of frosty wind rushes past, snatching Jack out of sight and away from the Warren. There’s a niggling feeling in the back of his mind that suggests that Jack’s question was more than curiosity, but the alternative is improbable and uncomfortable so Bunny pushes the thought away and returns to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hit a bit of a block with some of these but I hope you enjoyed them anyway.


	6. 21-25

_21\. It's like forgetting the words to your favorite song, you can't believe it, you were always singing along_

Jamie is 32 years old when he realizes that something is wrong.

His daughter is playing with an imaginary friend and the name Jack Frost sets off warning bells in his head. She draws pictures of a teenage boy in a blue hoodie with a shepherd’s crook and Jamie knows he has seen this before but he can’t recall where or when. It troubles Jamie to the point where he can’t sleep and his daughter has to remind him to close the windows when it snows. It’s been the two of them for so long that maybe he’s just bothered by this sudden ‘new friend’ that seems to be taking his little girl’s time from him.

It doesn’t explain why he suddenly starts crying while shoveling the driveway.

Jamie is reading a book in the kitchen when his baby girl comes inside and sets a snowball on the table.

“Honey, don’t bring snow inside, it’ll melt.” Is Jamie’s automatic response, but his daughter just pushes the snowball forward and shakes her head.

“Jack says he misses you, Daddy.” And Jamie takes a good long look at the snow on the table and realizes that it’s actually an ice sculpture of a bunny. His heart beats against his ribs and there’s a sudden chill over his right shoulder as he _remembers._

“Jack Frost.” Jamie whispers, and from the corner of his eye he catches dark blue.

“It’s been a while, Jamie Bennett.”

 

_22\. He stumbled into faith and thought, “God, this is all there is?”_

Churches were sacred to humans but meant little to ghosts. Someone with no promise of heaven cannot have faith in a God that forsook them.

But Jack had faith.

He sat in great cathedrals and heard the choirs, learned the prayers, sang the hymns. He took communion alone in the sacristy and made it snow each Christmas, not for the sake of Santa but for the lonely nativity scenes that portrayed the baby Jesus glowing in his manger. Once he tried on the vestments of a priest and stared at his reflection in the mirror, the hem of the alb pooled around his feets and the fringes of the stole brushing his knees. It didn’t suit him, and Jack supposed it was a good thing he was just a ghost.

He moved like a wraith through the great vaulted chambers of Westminster Abbey and watched the remains of kings and queens past come to life and dance in the halls of God.

He believed.

 

_23\. And this is why I am leaving, and this is why I can't see you no more, this is why I am lying when I say that I don't love you no more_

Jack made promises he would never keep and gave smiles that he never meant. He told lies that tasted bittersweet on his tongue and gave half-truths that slipped through the cracks of conversation. His believers had not missed him before his Guardianship and they would not miss him after he had gone, wiped from their memories like chalk from slate. His presence was as fickle as snowflakes in the wind and he would melt through gaps between fingers upon contact with anyone trying to hold him close.

It was easier to run away than it was to say goodbye and Jack stared at the closed shutters of the workshop, knowing the others were waiting for him just inside. The time would come someday when he would have to lie to them, the greatest lie he’d ever tell, but he was a coward and it would be easier to leave if they all hated him.

In some ways it was easier before they came along. Jack hadn’t been attached to them before. But when his feelings didn’t change, when the black hole in his heart began to eat itself away, Jack knew that this would never go away. Not until he disappeared.

But for now he would go into the workshop and smile and lie and pretend that he didn’t have a secret they wouldn’t discover until his body had melted into the earth and even the Moon couldn’t save him anymore.

 

_24\. All waiting for you to tell them the truth, the truth is a line that you'll never use_

He has to be a ghost because there’s nothing else he could really be. People can’t see him even though he looks like them, and he doesn’t have any other reason for being around. He can make things cold and he can make things frosty but he has no real purpose here on Earth.

Some days he finds a church to sit in and he talks to God, because maybe He can see him. He asks for an angel or a little bit of guidance, anything that could tell him where to go from here. But talking to God is as useless as screaming at the humans because he is unseen and unheard. He’s trapped in Purgatory or some sort of hell and he wonders what he had done in his past life that warranted this sentence.

He must be suffering some sort of punishment because no good and kind creature would have to exist as Jack Frost.

 

_25\. Let me in, let me in or I’ll blow your house down, let me in, let me in ‘cause there’s snow on the ground_

In a different turn of events Jack is a shadow in the clouds, dragging slush through his fingers and licking blood off his palms. The ice is jagged and thick where he walks and Pitch is watching through the shards Jack leaves in his wake.

He howls through the trees and slams into doors, an ugly smirk on his face and bones rattling in his body. He pulls up his hood and hooks his staff around their necks, laughing when they think death has come for them.

Death hasn’t come but winter invites it in.

Fear is just as good as love and Jack rides the Nightmares into battle that fateful Easter morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few notes here.
> 
> First of all, if anyone would like to suggest music so I can get some new inspiration, that would be absolutely fantastic.
> 
> Second, I'm considering a full-length fic and I would like some opinions on what to do with a human AU Jack. I could give him his human appearance or go with his 'Jack Frost' appearance, I just can't seem to decide what to do. Albinism is a very attractive option but considering that Moon_Rose is writing an absolutely wonderful story with an albino Jack, I don't want to risk the possibility of subconsciously using their ideas in my writing.


	7. 26-30

_26\. Kiss me like you want to be loved_

There are warm fingers at the edge of his sweater, lifting and pulling , blunt nails scraping and it feels like sunshine on his skin. Lips at his hipbones and palms on his knees, whispers in his ear and kisses trailing down his neck. He sighs, unable to voice his pleasure because it feels so good that it aches, his chest tightening and tears pinpricking his eyes. He never wants this to end and he reaches out to hold onto…

There is no one there.

Jack wakes up with icicles on his cheeks and there’s an ache in his chest that feels so tender that if he breathes, he’ll shatter.

 

_27\. You and I ended over UNI, and I said that’s fine but you’re the only one that knows I lied_

Jackson Overland is nine years old when his first love breaks his heart. Aster is standing awkwardly in the kitchen with an envelope in his hands that he sets on the counter. He’s a six foot one rugby player with a fondness for kids and Jack has known him all his life, what with them being neighbors, and the fact that Aster is twice his age had never seemed so important until that moment.

“You’re going where?” Jack demands to know, hands on his hips as he tries to look angry rather than upset. Aster kneels down to his level and Jack can see the rings of gold around his pupils. Aster only kneels like this when there are Important Things to discuss. Jack’s lower lip quivers as he tries not to cry.

“College, Frostbite. I told y’ before that I have t’ go away for a while.” Aster’s voice is unusually soft and Jack knows that this is the end. His life is over. Fat tears roll down his cheeks despite his best efforts and Aster immediately gets flustered. “Jack, Jackie-boy, it’s gonna be fine, yeah? I can still come t’ visit and if you’re good, maybe my mum will bring you up to visit me sometimes. Don’t cry, Jack.”

“I’m not crying, I’m not a sissy!” Jack wails, even as his hands come up to rub his eyes. He misses the fond look that Aster gives him.

“You’re not a sissy. It’s okay t’ be sad, but there’s no need for it. I’ll be back every summer, every Christmas, every Easter. Alright?” Jack nods but he’s still crying. Aster scoops him up and Jack clings to him, placing a sloppy kiss on his cheek.

“Promise you’ll come back?” Jack asks. Aster nods and kisses Jack on the forehead, wondering how on earth this little hell-raiser was going to get along without someone to call him out on his shenanigans.

“I promise.”

 

_28\. They huddle on your doorstep as the clouds start to break, and they scratch at your windows and they bang on your gate_

The wind whispers.  
Jack hears their stories and believes  
He sings to them through the cracks in their doors  
They put cotton in the locks.  
His snowflakes are made just for them  
They hold out their tongues and eat them  
His heart bursts as they devour him.  
He leaves presents on the doorstep  
Little ice sculptures  
They lock him outside.

 

_29\. Slept on an acre of bones, slept through Christmas , slept like a bucket of snow_

It was not often that an immortal would need to sleep and when they did it could take days, even years, to awaken. Jack didn’t know it but before he came out of his pond, he had been sleeping for ten years.

He does not sleep again for half a century and when he wakes a year has passed him by. The discovery is so shocking that Jack refuses to succumb to dreams ever again. He avoids the Sandman and plunges himself into his self-imposed job of keeping children entertained. Every spring he dozes off but catches himself just a few days later. His complexion grows pallid and dull, his powers slightly weaker. He crashes in his second century and sleeps three years away, waking up to a world that changed without him.

It’s terrifying. He has no control over it, has so little control over anything, and Jack feels himself starting to break down.

The next time he sleeps is after he becomes a Guardian, and when he wakes up Jamie has died of old age.

 

_30\. We pinch at our skin while we wonder how we escaped harm, we forget all our trials while there in our baby's arms_

It’s nearing the end of time and they are dancing, hands clutching tightly and foreheads pressed together while the sounds of the dying world provide their music. Jack’s body is warm and Kozomtis’ skin is tanned and they are human again, the last men on earth and the only two that matter. The others have gone long ago and because fear and winter never die they have remained in stagnant beauty while civilization falls.

The moon is leaving orbit and Jack heaves an ancient sigh. Kozmotis pulls him close and when the end finally comes they are kissing, pressed so tightly to each other that when their bodies shatter the pieces meld as one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been brought to my attention that No. 27 could be misread and seen as a relationship between Aster and Jack, which was not my intention in the least. I don't write pedophilia, and any relationship drabbles that I write have Jack at age 18.
> 
> In no. 27, Jack has a crush on Aster (like children tend to get on those they look up to). Aster, however, sees Jack only as a little brother. There is no romance between them.


	8. 31-33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really short update. I've got the beginnings of a writer's block, though hopefully I can finish Pas de Deux (under my other name, Kalanon) before the block hits me dead on.

_31\. We walk fast, we haven't changed and time and time just goes by, we walk fast and we're hiding behind quiet smiles_

Jack is there when mountains crumble and rivers dry. He is there when buildings rot and people die. Societies rise and fall and each time there is a struggle to keep the children believing, to keep the children safe. Bunny is the first to go, the pathways to the Warren suddenly cut off. Tooth is next, her palace uprooting and floating away. North is not long after, the entirety of the workshop vanishing like a plane in the Bermuda triangle. Pitch and Sandy leave together, a fading speck of starlight in that ancient sky, and Jack is left with the wind.

Jack stays far longer than he’d meant to, watching the earth grow and change until winter doesn’t come anymore. The wind curls around him and lifts him higher until the earth is a blue speck and Sandy’s starship catches him in its sails. There are new worlds to explore, and more children to protect.

 

_32\. And your voice cracks like a piano, you keep moving but where are you going? Baby, we’re long gone_

Jack eats slowly like it’s his last meal, chewing each bite thoroughly and looking regretful as he swallows. He doesn’t feel hunger but the taste is what’s important, and the fact that Bunnymund has given him an Easter egg means far more than any of the Guardians realize. For a little while he’s human again, eating chocolate with his sister on Easter morning. He shuts his eyes and takes small bites.

“There are more eggs where that came from, Jack.” Bunnymund says, but Jack just shrugs his shoulders. He doesn’t need more eggs. Just this one, and the dream that comes with it.

 

_33\. I see you bite your bottom lip, can you feel my kisses on your hips?_

Aster’s hands are large and rough and Jack can feel them cupping his face, sliding down his neck, tracing the line of his body before picking up his own hands. Jack feels Aster’s lips on each fingertip and he sighs, needlessly shutting his eyes. Aster mouths at Jack’s palm, silent words that Jack catches in his heartline, and he can read Aster’s body language better than brail. Without sight he has to rely on other senses and he knows Aster by heart. His smell, the way he breathes, the feel of his lips and hands, the taste of his mouth when they kiss. He doesn’t need to see him to know that he is beautiful. This is enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blind!Jack from no. 33 is sort of a shout out to Moon_Rose. Their fic Written Words is absolutely fabulous, I really do suggest reading it. I'm a sucker for coffee shop AUs and WW is everything I've ever wanted.
> 
> (also you should post prompts on the DW kink meme because I stalk the hell out of it looking for good, angsty prompts which I then fill and post under my Kalanon pseudonym.
> 
> Yeah basically just go throw some prompts in the kink meme that'd be great for maybe getting my creative juices going again.)


	9. 34-36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These ones are pretty long so I only put three up. I'm going to try working on the drabbles that people have asked me to expand on for the next update.

_34\. I'm still waiting, still shivering cold, in my third hour by this pay phone_

Jack is lucky that his only luggage is an overstuffed backpack, otherwise he wouldn’t have been able to cram himself into the phone box. It’s the warmest place he can find as he waits for his ride, which is already very late, and he doesn’t have the money for a taxi. He could have stayed at the airport, if he’d known that Aster was going to be so late, but the idiot hadn’t told him about the delays until it was too late. So Jack was stuck outside in freezing weather at some ungodly hour in the morning, jetlagged from his flight and cranky with hunger.

A shiny black car pulls up and for a moment Jack’s stomach lurches, hoping that it was Aster, but that is definitely not the wrecked hand-me-down Nissan that Aster drives. Before Jack can figure out why a BMW, of all cars, is stopping by a payphone, a man steps out of the driver’s side and Jack stares.

There is something eerily familiar about this man but Jack can’t place it. He’s attractive and probably rich, if the car and the cut of his suit are anything to go by. Jack doesn’t notice that the man is walking towards him until the door of the phone booth is pulled open and the man is looking at him with a carefully disinterested expression.

“Do you need a ride?” He asks, and Jack nods before he can stop himself. He’s bundled into the passenger side before he realizes what’s happening, his backpack in the seat behind him and the man is driving off. “You can use my cell if you would like, to inform your family.” It’s ominous but Jack grabs the phone (an iPhone 5, and those hadn’t been released publicly yet, good god how rich was this man?) and dials Aster’s number. It takes a few seconds for Aster to pick up and Jack is relieved to hear his voice.

“Hey, Aster, you don’t need to come grab me anymore. I’ve been picked up by this good Samaritan, he’s going to take me home.” Aster sounds relieved, asks who the Samaritan is, and Jack asks the man for his name.

“Pitch Black.” The man says, and Jack feels like that should mean something as he relays it to Aster. There’s a moment of silence before Aster roars into the phone, tells Jack to run, but Pitch gently pulls the phone from Jack’s hand and turns it off. Jack is shaken, his hands are twitching and he wants to bolt but the car is moving fast, impossibly fast, and he can’t escape. Pitch smiles and runs his fingers down the side of Jack’s face, his thumb catching the corner of his lips, and Jack jerks back like he’s been cut.

He doesn’t make it home that night.

 

_35\. Yes'n I try to ignore all this blood on the floor, it's just this heart on my sleeve that's bleeding_

Jack has never had any reason to hide his emotions because for 300 years there was no one to hide them from, but despite this he can lie through his teeth and no one is the wiser. He feels no remorse for lying in most cases, because he can justify his actions to himself and he hasn’t yet learned what it means to hurt others with his words. It does not occur to him that one day it would come back to bite him, because Karma does not distinguish between those who know better and those who are ignorant.

It starts off as little lies, nothing damaging, because to Jack the lies are a game and if he’s caught there’s not much to lose. Sometimes they catch him and he laughs it off, admitting failure, and they shrug it off as well because no harm was done. Jack eventually grows bored with these small lies and goes for bigger ones, the risk much higher and there’s a lot more to lose. He’s careful with these lies, telling them only when the web he’s woven is thick enough to hold them, and one day it becomes too elaborate of a trap. Jack ensnares himself within it and Bunny is the one to find him out.

“I’m sick o’ your lies, Frost! Do y’realize that you could seriously hurt someone? Didja lie to your mother the day you died? Say you’ll be careful, then drag your sister on ta thin ice?”

Bunny has always struck where it hurts the most but this is the lowest he’s ever gone. Jack can feel the rush of pain through his body, an intangible thing that can’t be healed because it’s a wound made with words that Bunny can’t take back. Bunny realizes his mistake too late and Jack smiles.

It’s the first time he’s ever tried to hide his feelings and it doesn’t work, but now that he can be seen Jack realizes there is more to fear, more to hide from, than there ever was when he was invisible.

 

_36\. Oh, I heard the cold winds say: "You're a fool to stay", but I did, yes I did_

The wind is tugging at Jack’s body, urging him away, but he stays where he is outside the hospital window. He can’t go inside, can’t risk his freezing temperature disrupting the machines and hurting, damaging ( _killing_ ). So he peers through the window and prays that the nurses won’t close the curtains this night, not when time is nearly up. It’s the last night. Jack knows because Death is standing in the doorway, watching him with sad eyes as they walk towards the bed.

Jack and Death have brushed before, intimately acquainted in a way that very few are. Jack died and Death had taken him, but the Man in the Moon had bargained with Death so Jack could be reborn. Death knows all of Jack’s secrets and Jack knows Death like one does an eccentric relative—distantly, with curiosity and no small amount of discomfort.

Jack breathes frost against the windowpane, watching as Death pulls off their hood. Death has no gender, no truly distinct features at all, but their presence naturally exudes this sort of finality. A sense of an ending. Jack wishes he could enter the room, press himself into the body on the bed and plead for more time. But there is no time left, and Death cannot bargain with one who has already escaped their grip once. Death reaches with a pale hand, mouth set in a hard line, and pulls out the soul. Jack accidentally cracks the window with the force of his anguish.

_You may come in._

Death beckons and Jack slides through the cracks in the window as the nurses rush in. The heart monitor is flat and they are panicking over the window, sweeping away the glass on the floor. Jack stands by the bed but his eyes are on the soul in Death’s hand, twisting and taking shape.

Jamie’s mother stares at him, her eyes full of wonder. She feels no more pain, no more heartache, and she clutches Death’s hand tight. “You’re real.” She whispers, and Jack nods.

“I’ve been watching out for Jamie and Sophie since they were kids.” He admits, and she smiles at him.

“Good. Good.” A promise passes between them unspoken. Jack will keep an eye on her children. Death covers her with their cloak and they fade away to wherever the After leads them.

Jack lets the wind swoop into the room, making the nurses shriek as it picks him up and carries him far away.


	10. 37-42

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's what I've been calling the 'follow-up chapter', since these were written in response to people asking me to expand on certain drabbles...you can still ask me to write more for certain drabbles or themes, by the way.

_(follow-up to #25) 37. Tell me why you reach, grasping for my knee, my wrist, the ladder on this beach, connecting you to me like this_

Pitch couldn’t explain the connection between himself and Jack Frost, not at first. The boy innocent and childish when they met for the first time, not long after Jack’s creation. Pitch still hadn’t forgiven the snowball to the face that he received upon their first meeting. Jack was an upstart and while Pitch could appreciate his chaotic nature, there was too much light in his eyes and too much hope in his laughter. Everything about Jack was too much of what Pitch hated. He left Jack alone without a second thought.

He ran into Jack twenty years later and was surprised by the change. Jack’s smiles were sharp and his eyes were bitter, and his laughter was desperate and sad and _afraid_. Pitch had never been in love before but the sight of such a joyless, pathetic man would have made his nonexistent heart skip a beat.

He offered his hand and Jack took it.

It was easy to bend Jack to his will, since they both had the same aims. To be believed in, to be seen, to wreak havoc. Jack eventually stopped being afraid and it would have disappointed Pitch if it weren’t for the fact that Jack himself now spread fear. They planned together and worked together and there wasn’t any love but there was fear, there was always fear, and that drew them together.

A few centuries later and they rode out to meet the Guardians in a battle that would, inevitably, result in a cold and bitter world filled with terror. Jack didn’t know the Guardians and they didn’t know him. It was easy to freeze them right out of the sky and the nightmare sand overwhelmed them.

Pitch looked at the moon and laughed, because he had Jack Frost and he had won.

 

_(follow up to #20)38. There's blood in the water and panic in the air, he's racing and chasing the scent of your hair_

Bunny is enraged, boomerangs drawn and voice raised as he shouts at North. Toothiana is trying to calm him down and North is hunched over, defeated, his eyes lacking the wonder he prides himself in. Sandy is nowhere to be seen, having left in a hurry to begin the search. It had never occurred to North that his freedom with knowledge could be harmful. It had never occurred to him that Jack’s seemingly innocent questions could have had a much darker meaning tucked into the corners of his smiles.

Bunny is angry because he knows that he should have realized it sooner, and it’s easier to take it out on North than it is to feel the guilt.

“Did it occur to ya that Jack doesn’t need to know that sort of thing?” Bunny howls. “That he doesn’t need ta know how to Will himself out of existence?”

It’s the only way they can disappear. Physical means have no effect. Tooth tries not to think about the longing on Jack’s face as he watched a passing train during one of their patrols together. North’s hulking form looks vulnerable, weakened by his shame and anguish at the reality of the situation.

Golden snowflakes dance around them, Sandy’s urgent call for them to join him, and although Bunny swears violently and North is oddly silent, they all rush to beat the clock and bring Jack home.

 

_(follow-up to #23) 39. I'll lock you up cold, I'll breathe you in, I'll take you down slow; you know I have tracked you down_

He has told himself lies throughout his lives, both human and immortal (You are not hungry, you are not afraid, you are not useless, you are loved), and though he never believes them he has always tried. He practiced smiles in the reflection of windows and became as hardened as the ice he called, sharp icicle teeth and frozen anger hidden under the delicacy of snowfall. The Guardians are none the wiser. He is _Fun_ and _Joy_.

(You are wanted, you are needed, you are happy)

Jack perfects his final lie in the silence of his clearing, standing over the pond that he died in- _the first time but not the last_ \- and repeating it over and over until it loses its meaning and becomes slush on his tongue. It will not hurt when he says it but it’s not the words that scare him. Their faces as he lies, betrays, _runs_ makes him ache but this is what he wanted, isn’t it? They will hate him now. They won’t look for him, now.

(They won’t miss you)

You can’t hide from a sorrow that grows within you, eating away like shadows in the night, and for Jack the dawn never comes. He knows the secret and he knows the way. He knows how to disappear and he lies down to wait for the sun to rise, waits for the day to begin and for himself to end.

(It won’t hurt)

 

_(follow up to #27)40. Lay your hand in mine, pull me back inside, show me how- in love - a heart ceases to fight_

Jack is eighteen years old and his first love is twenty-seven. The age gap is large and Jack knows that Aster doesn’t like it but Jack just doesn’t care. He’d managed to hold onto a childish love and transform it into something real, something powerful, and if Aster wouldn’t acknowledge him on his own then Jack would just have to make him. So he plans and waits and when the day finally comes he is ready to strike.

He is starting his first year of college and he manages to guilt Aster into visiting him, just like Jack had visited Aster when he was still just a kid. Of course a nine year old wouldn’t have much fun at a college but he had just been happy to be playing with Aster again. Now they are both adults and Jack is tired of Aster looking at him like a kid brother.

So when Aster shows up outside of Jack’s dorm door, Jack kisses him right on the mouth.

Aster reacts predictably, sputtering and annoyed but not truly angry because he can never stay mad at Jack.

“Just let me try.” Jack says, and his voice is a little more vulnerable than he wanted it to be. Aster is torn, of course, but Jack takes his hands and holds them to his heart to show how nervous he is. “I’m not a kid anymore.”

For the first time, Aster relents and lets Jack pull him into the dorm room. Things won’t change right away but Jack has hope. He’d waited this long, he could wait a little longer.

 

_(follow-up to #10) 41. When age sets in and wrinkles your skin, and snatches the light from your eyes_

Toothiana stares in muted horror at the bloodied premolar in her hand. This is a tooth she had not expected, had not truly wanted—for all her fairies’ swooning, none of them desired to be the ones to collect his teeth. Jack had saved them the trouble by handing it over himself, blood dribbling down his chin and pliers in his hand (and Tooth wonders how North will take the news that Jack stole his tools for this).

“I’m a grown up now.” He says, blood bubbles bursting from his lips.

They forget so easily that although he is so young in some ways, he is a three hundred year old man trapped in the body of a fourteen year old child.

Tooth doesn’t have the heart to tell him that this tooth will grow back by the next day, a tainted memory that Jack will carry in his heart forever.

 

_(follow-up to 18)42. No lyrics this time, just telling the story of Jack in summer._

He is only a few months old when he discovers that summer is nothing like spring. Though spring is warm and green and not nearly as fun as winter, Jack can still summon the snow and create paths of ice on the sidewalks.

In summer it feels like he is dying.

It starts out slow, a quietly building pressure in the back of his skull that spreads down his spine and into his hands. There’s an ache that makes him lethargic but it doesn’t hurt. When summer fully takes hold of the northern hemisphere Jack feels ill. There is nothing in his body to throw up but he dry heaves, he is too warm but he shivers uncontrollably, he feels a little better when he lies down but when he stands he is overcome with weariness and pain.

It’s the longest day of the year and Jack is on the wind, trying to find something cold, something icy and reassuring.

The sun _burns._

The wind ushers him into a snowy mountain cave and Jack huddles inside, terrified and confused and hurting everywhere. He does not leave the cave for a long time, not until the pain goes away and it’s dark outside.

Jack decides that he does not like summer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started a follow-up for #34 but decided that I'd rather leave that one be, because it's more fun for you guys to imagine what happened. I'm sure what you're thinking is infinitely worse than what I had in mind, ahaha. While #38 and #39 both deal with suicide I consider them to be separate pieces, mostly because they don't really mesh together due to Jack's actions...that's just a personal opinion though.
> 
> Also I keep forgetting to mention that I did end up writing a human AU for the kink meme, it's just posted under my other pseudonym (Kalanon) along with all my other kink meme fills. It's a ballet AU and oops look at me plugging my own stories. Anyway if you're interested those stories are surprisingly less angsty than these short drabbles ahaha.


	11. 43-46

_(follow up to 20/38) 43. You're getting sadder, getting sadder, getting sadder, getting sadder, and I don't understand, and I don't understand_

They have an eternity ahead of them but nothing is more important than these few precious hours that will determine whether or not Jack will stay a part of their immortal lives. Even when they were at risk of losing believers, they have never been more frightened. Nightmares swarm them as they search, drawn in by the irresistible stench of terror, but Pitch calls them away from the depths of his lair. Even he knows better than to interfere.

Tooth has the advantage of her fairy army; Sandy has his sands searching for a hint in the dreams of children, and North has his snow globes and sharp eyes. But Bunny remembers Jamie and Sophie’s attachment to Jack, and so he is the one to get the first clue of Jack’s whereabouts.

“Jack said something about a cabin in Siberia, once.” Jamie yawns, rubbing his eyes as he tries to stay awake. He doesn’t understand what’s happened, since Bunny won’t explain it, but even at nine years old he can feel the tension in the air and does his best to give Bunny the information he desires. “An abandoned place that’s always covered in ice and snow. He said he would try to take me there someday, if he ever got the chance to.” Jamie suddenly realizes that something is off about that statement, and he gives Bunny a sad look. “I don’t think he was ever going to take me. He left a pretty picture on the window for Sophie and I a few days ago, but I haven’t seen him since.”

Jamie doesn’t know that Jack’s life is at risk but he understands that Jack is gone and maybe never coming back. Bunny thanks him and sends him back to sleep, promising that everything will be fine even if he isn’t sure that it will be. But he’s the Guardian of Hope, and if no one else has faith then Bunny must be the one to try.

He thumps the ground and heads through the tunnels for Siberia, hoping that it’s not too late.

 

_(Follow up to 23/39) 44. Fairy tale, the moral end, wheel of fortune never turns again…never turns again_

He falls asleep before the worst of it comes. It stings through his eyelids and he dreams of fire licking at the soles of his feet, burning angry marks up his shins and thighs and resting in his stomach while devouring his entrails. It hurts but for some reason it feels… _less_. He’s being cheated. The fire turns to ice and he’s encased in shadows, hands over his eyes and mouth, shackles on his ankles.

It’s a nightmare.

Jack’s eyes snap open and he stares at the bars above him. His entire body hurts but what makes him cry out with pain is the fact that _he’s still here._

“I would never have thought that your greatest fear would be that you would live forever.” Pitch’s voice echoes and his amused tone immediately sets Jack on edge. He sits up, ignoring the stabbing pain in his stomach and the knowledge that his chance has been taken from him, and he stares at Pitch who just smiles idly back at him. “Don’t worry, the Guardians all think you’re gone. Suicide is a foreign concept to them.” Pitch actually sounds gleeful and Jack bites his tongue to keep from retorting and giving Pitch more ammo. He’s too weak, too tired to fight anymore. He slumps in the hanging cage that Pitch has locked him in and the Nightmare King grins.

“You and I are going to have fun, Jack. _Forever_.”

 

_45\. Have you ever looked fear in the face and said, "I just don't care"?_

There are a lot of things to be afraid of. Being lonely. Being ignored. Being unwanted.

Jack is none of these things, at least not anymore.

“Do your worst.” Jack says, and Pitch’s sneer is bitter and broken and _scared._

 

_46\. Your whole life waiting on the ring to prove you're not alone, have you ever been touched so gently you had to cry?_

It was strange, how such a little thing could have so much symbolism. Jack pressed his lips to the cold metal, tasting the salt on his skin of his finger and the bitter of the precious silver ring. Beside him a body shifted, arms curling around his waist and a mouth pressing to his shoulder. Jack beamed and turned to kiss the top of the head that rested just below his chin.

He didn’t need anything but this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you kill me before not making this a happy chapter, at least I didn't kill Jack???
> 
> I was going to but then I changed my mind and decided to drag this out longer. Reminder that the 20/34/43 drabble set is different from the 23/39/44 drabble set.


	12. 47-50

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fucking coffee shop AUs have taken control of my life.
> 
> You guys are so lucky I managed to restrain it to just one drabble. _This time._

_47\. And all my bones began to shake, my eyes flew open_

It was cold, and it was dark.

He didn’t know what cold and darkness were but the words seemed right in his head.

He opened his eyes and everything felt _wrong._

His chest heaved, gasping for something as he broke through the ice ( _what is ice?_ ) but he wasn’t sure what he was gasping for. He didn’t understand what was going on, he was scared, where was he? Who was he?

The moon was bright and as he gazed at it he felt less…scared. It was big and white and round and the longer he stared the bigger it seemed to get and then there were words in his head.

His name was Jack Frost.

(Somehow, that felt wrong, too.)

 

_48\. No more dreaming of the dead as if death itself was undone_

She dreams of her brother, all shining smiles and infectious laughter as he runs through the woods and just out of her reach. They tread on thin ice but it doesn’t break beneath them, it never breaks, but he is running too fast and too far for her to follow. He is swept away by the wind and she stands alone in the woods with a stuffed bunny clutched to her chest.

She doesn’t want to believe he’s gone. She doesn’t want to believe in anything. She _can’t_ believe in anything. But if she didn’t believe then she wouldn't be able to feel the arms around her.

“I’m sorry.” He says, and she had forgotten how much he must hurt too, so she clings to him while she sobs. “I’m sorry, I am so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” She manages through her tears, because it’s nobody’s fault that her brother died in his sleep, died unexpectedly because his heart (his big, beautiful heart) just gave out without warning. It’s nobody’s fault.

Jack and Sophie blame themselves anyway.

 

_49\. It goes cautiously into the dark and you see before long that we all have a part_

He knows that he is dreaming. There is no other way he could be here, in Pitch’s lair, if he weren’t. Jack moves warily through the shaded halls and tries to avoid the deepest of the shadows. He doesn’t have his staff, and a single misstep will have him tumbling through the dark and straight into Pitch’s grasp.

They have played this game before.

Jack doesn’t like it when he loses.

But in the end he is doomed to fail because nightmares belong to Pitch and not all dreams are happy. Jack resigns himself to capture the moment his bare feet sink into an inky shadow on the floor. The dark laps at his ankles like an oily tongue and then it sucks him down. Jack feels sick to his stomach as he experiences what can only be described as being pulled through a chewed up bendy straw, and the shadow spits him out onto the floor at Pitch’s feet. The bastard is sitting in a throne, of course. He always is when Jack loses.

“Have you changed your mind?” Pitch asks this question every time.

“No.” Jack’s answer is always the same.

The hands carding through his hair are uncomfortably familiar and Jack wishes he could say that being pulled into Pitch’s lap isn’t part of the routine, but that has become something almost habitual in this nightmare place.

Jack can’t look the Guardians in the eye when he wakes up, a scream on his lips that wasn’t caused by fear.

 

_50\. There you are, sitting in the garden, clutching my coffee, calling me sugar, you called me sugar_

Aster isn’t sure why he keeps coming back to this dinky café because it certainly isn’t the watered down coffee or the dried out pastries or the cookie-cutter chain store atmosphere. The register rings and the price comes up in blinking green numbers but Aster doesn’t even bother to look at the amount he owes because he already knows the total. He digs change out of his pocket and pops a five dollar bill into the tip jar even though he and the cashier haven’t exchanged a single word.

He gets a blinding smile in return and Aster refuses to admit that the reason he’s a regular is because of the gorgeous blue-eyed boy who works alone every Tuesday evening.

“Good evening, Aster.” He’s clear as a fucking bell and it’s all Aster can do not to hop over the counter and drag him into the back.

“Evenin’, mate.” Aster mutters, and Jack laughs as he hands Aster his plain black coffee. They both jolt when their fingers brush but Aster turns away too quickly to see Jack’s blush, and he completely misses Jack’s disappointed look when they don’t speak another word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder that I will expand on any drabbles that you really liked! Just let me know what you want to see, your thoughts are my prompts.
> 
> (Sooooo is anyone interested in being my beta reader for Pas de Deux
> 
> honestly I just need someone to bounce ideas off of)
> 
> (also I just really want to write more fanfiction and don't know where to start)


	13. 51-54

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm procrastinating on homework whoooops
> 
> Anyway I pulled together a playlist of every single song that I've used a lyric from for Carousel. You can listen to it here:
> 
> http://open (dot) spotify (dot) com/user/1155330187/playlist/2krnhmkkDgImkHgX4N7Bgh

_51\. Felt it in my fist, in my feet, in the hollows of my eyelids, shaking through my skull, through my spine and down through my ribs_

The throbbing of the bass travelled through the soles of Jack’s feet, even from where he was standing on the roof. It reverberated throughout his chest like a heartbeat, steady thumps, cold blood shuddering. Sometimes in the early hours of the morning he would just stand on the rooftops of clubs and listen to the music. They were all so alive, vibrant and pulsing with energy, hundreds of bodies crammed into a tiny place and none of them cared about who they were or why they existed.

Clubs were too hot for Jack to venture into them but he could at least pretend when he was on the roof. He danced alone under the moon, the pounding bass acting as his heartbeat, and he felt _alive._

 

_52\. You're almost here, you catch your breath, a ghost is whisperin' in your head: ''No, you're not home''_

Jack wants to believe that he belongs with the Guardians. He wants to be like them, wants to throw himself into his duties and be a role model for kids and spirits alike. But three hundred years is a long time to get used to old routines, old habits, old values. He’s seen too much to pretend that he is anything more than a lost soul stuck in the wrong plane. He has watched as others suffered and he has been the cause of that suffering. He is tainted.

The shadows whisper to him at night, disembodied voices that try to lure him in. It’s a siren song he can barely resist. They promise him peace and quiet and freedom from the trials of responsibility, reprieve from guilt and the guarantee that he is wanted. Jack isn’t stupid. He knows who is in the shadows making these offers to him and it honestly confuses him. Pitch hates him. Doesn’t he?

One terrible night when Jack is once again reminded that he can do so little, can only watch as people freeze (they don’t all believe in him and he can’t make them warm, can’t stop them dying), Pitch manifests. Jack’s fear is so strong that the weak Boogeyman is actually able to reach out and touch him. His hands burn where they rest on Jack’s shoulders and Jack doesn’t pull away, doesn’t shout, doesn’t do anything at all.

“Come with me.” It’s not a question. Jack falls through the shadows like shattered ice.

_53\. The prettiest in crowd that you had ever seen, ribbons in our hair and our eyes gleamed mean, a freshmen generation of degenerate beauty queens_

It should be illegal for skirts to be that short or that tight. It should also be illegal for anyone to have mile long legs that would look good wrapped around her waist—Astoria caught herself mid-thought and viciously cut it down. She was a professional, she was a Guardian, she was a fucking Pooka warrior and stupid little sprites at New Year’s parties were not going to get to her head.

Jack looked over from the across the room, a smirk on her pale blue lips when she met Astoria’s gaze. She stretched her arms above her head and the skirt rode up her thighs and oh that was definitely a hint of a pale stomach between the skirt and the shirt hem. Astoria was going to kill her. And by kill she meant she was going to _wreck_ Jack Frost so thoroughly that the stupid sexy winter sprite wouldn’t be able to move for days.

There were other spirits eyeing Jack but Astoria knew that at the end of the night, Jack was coming home with her. That thought made her stand up straighter and run a paw over the fur of her ruff. If Jack was going to tease, Astoria would just have to show her how it was really done. Two could play at this game.

 

_(follow-up to #35) 54. ‘Cause all the walls of dreaming, they were torn wide open and finally it seemed that the spell was broken_

Jack still tells lies but they’re a different sort of falsehood now, the kind that surround him with a shield that his friends’ worries won’t penetrate. Bunny is still trying to make up for that hideous barb about the day he died but Jack just smiles at him. At first it just catches the others off-guard, but slowly they get used to it and Jack’s grins become lip-quirks of dishonesty. Sandy can see right through him but Jack knows that someday he’ll fool him as well.

It’s harder to lie with your body than it is with your words but Jack learns that fake sincerity gets easier with practice. His body doesn’t tense anymore. Sometimes, he even believes his own lies. It’s not as dangerous as his previous games and sometimes he resents himself, resents the others, for making him change into something so deceitful. He hardly realizes the extent of the change until Jamie frowns at him one day and says “You’re acting like a grown-up.”

Grown-ups lie all the time. Jack feels ancient, and while he _is_ very old the Guardians are older still, and for the first time he wonders what sort of lies they’ve told him in return. He begins to notice Tooth’s habits of locking herself away, Sandy’s longing stares at the sky, Aster’s obsessive workaholic tendencies, North’s locked rooms.

_(Pitch is the most honest of them all.)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AO3 fucked up the formatting (and deleted an entire drabble) so let me know if something seems off or if something is missing.


	14. 55-58

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to write a Valentine's Day story but I've been so busy that this was all I managed to crank out ahaha. Sorry if these seem scattered because _I'm_ scattered right now, my brain is in a million places.

_55\. If I kiss you where it's sore will you feel better, better, better, will you feel anything at all_

Jack wakes up like Dorothy in the 'Wizard of Oz' and learns from a stone-faced doctor that it had all been a dream. Except he can’t remember life outside of the fantasy, can’t remember his parents’ faces or the car accident that claimed their lives. Can’t remember that Emma had died instead of him that day on the ice, so many years ago now, and he is in the body of a twenty-four year old man with the mind of an eighteen year old ghost. Three hundred years in his head, six years in a coma.

He feels cheated and when the moon is full he leans out his hospital window and screams until the nurses tranquilize him. Familiar faces float at the foot of his bed and they talk to him but the doctor said that the dreams weren’t real, so why are the Guardians here?

Pitch is his legal guardian and Jack throws his food tray at him when he first walks in. His real name is Kozmotis Pitchiner and he looks sad as Jack blames him for this new and unusual punishment. There is a girl standing behind him with dark hair and tense features and Jack’s mind names her even though he is sure they have never met.

Her name is Seraphina and she is Pitch’s daughter. She is the anomaly in this new nightmare. Her existence proves that wherever Jack is, Pitch isn’t the bad guy here.

It doesn’t make him any less wary when Pitch— _Kozmotis_ —takes him ‘home’ for the first time. It’s a lovely house and there is a room painted blue with his name on the door. It’s a little bit dusty and when Jack sits on the bed the springs creak from disuse. It’s a ghost’s room. It’s his room. Jack stares at the ceiling and wonders if he ever kept glow in the dark stars on the popcorn plaster.

He sleeps under ten blankets but he feels as though he is freezing and he is sure he isn’t imagining the frozen tears on his cheeks. His dreams are new terrors. Cracking ice is replaced by tearing metal and slamming breaks. He wakes up. It is cold and it is dark. But he has a heartbeat where there wasn’t one before and the wind won’t come when he calls.

This pain means nothing when he picks up the phone one day and hears Aster’s voice on the other line. Pi—Kozmotis doesn’t scold him for throwing the phone across the kitchen, where Seraphina picks up the broken plastic. Kozmotis holds him carefully (like he is made of ice) and doesn’t hush him when he cries. He feels lips on his forehead and Seraphina puts a hand on his back and Jack is so confused, so lost and afraid and his own hands are too big as they wrap around Kozmotis’ shoulders.

Everything here is wrong. 

But at least he has a family now.

 

_56\. If you never say your name out loud to anyone, they can never ever call you by it_

No one was listening so Jack stopped talking. His sarcastic comments gave way to unnerving stares and his raucous laughter turned to bitter quirks of the mouth. There was no one around to miss the sound, no one around to ask him ‘hello, how are you?’ or say ‘I miss your laughter’. He grew used to the silence of the woods in the dead of winter and he learned to speak through the wind in the trees, the whisper of snowfall and the sharp cracking of ice.

When the Guardians came to call on him they didn’t know anything about him, only that he came and went with the storms. He smiled, but when he tried to give his name they were too distracted to hear it. Only Sandy heard the soft words carried in on a breeze, and Jack felt his heart swell when Sandy smiled at him. That smile said ‘hello, Jack Frost’ and that was all Jack needed in order to know that things were going to be okay.

 

_57\. And under your skin you can feel that the fear that you feel is what will set you free_

He doesn’t want to acknowledge the lips on his neck the same way he doesn’t want to admit to the slow-creeping dread that he feels in his stomach. This is a deal, a bargain, and that’s all this is. But it’s hard to ignore the burning hands on his hips and he isn’t allowed to close his eyes. He isn’t allowed to look away. There’s no possible way for him to pretend to be somewhere else ( _with someone else_ ) so Jack takes a deep breath and places his hands on Pitch’s shoulders.

“Get it over with.” He says, and he hopes his anger can hide his fear.

“As you wish.” Pitch smiles against his skin and Jack realizes that he knows, he can tell what that fear is. Pitch laughs and Jack takes that as permission to close his eyes. Shutting your eyes is surrendering; that's the rule. Pitch presses a hand over his eyelids and whispers in his ear. “You want this.”

He’s terrified because he _does._

 

_58\. And under the night you can hear the full moon rise like a psalm in the air, and the air goes into your lungs_

In. Out. In. Out.

He didn’t need to breathe but the rush of cool air in his still lungs made him feel less stagnant. Less like standing water in some motionless bog. It was a current, a sign of life, and it kept him moving forward. Ever forward. He couldn’t go against the current, couldn’t stand still, couldn’t go back to the way things used to be.

In. Out. In. Out. In.

He held it a little too long, felt the ice rattle in his ribcage, a wind chime instead of a heartbeat.

Out. In. Out.

The air glimmered with diamond dust and he raised his hands, catching the shine on his fingertips and tracing frost patterns in the air. They sparkled and shattered.

In. Out. In.

The moon was full and high in the sky, casting faint blue light on the snow. Jack didn’t look up, kept his eyes on the ice below him, watched the cracks spread like veins. The water beneath was still and cold. Unmoving. Not breathing.

Out.

Jack released one last breath before going as lifeless as the ice and water below him. No heartbeat, no breath, no aching muscles or inner warmth.

He shut his eyes and tried to remember the feeling of blood in his veins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oookay time to run now, we open our musical in less than a week and tonight we're going to try and finish painting the set. And I still have to style a wig and finalize makeup designs and asdfghj okay you get the picture I'm really busy. Once the show is over I'll try finish off those suicide drabbles since I've left you guys hanging long enough.


	15. 59-61

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry.

_(Follow up to 23/39/44) 59. Maybe I should cry for help, maybe I should kill myself, blame it on my ADD baby_

It’s easy to lose track of time underground. There is no sun or moon to create day and night and all Jack can do to pass the time is sleep. Sometimes he creates snowballs or little ice sculptures, but those never last. Pitch makes sure they don’t. Pitch makes sure he can’t sleep, either. At least not without nightmares _(and he hears Emma screaming every night asking him to come back come home)._

He’s not in a cage anymore, but he still feels like a kept pet and every passing moment is agony. He was so close _so close_ to finally reaching the end and Pitch took it from him. Pitch has taken everything. There’s nothing here but cold stone walls and never ending darkness and Pitch Black. There is no one to talk to but Pitch and some days he even craves that conversation just to hear someone else speak. It’s too much like those three hundred years alone and it feels so good to have someone there so good to be seen and heard even if Pitch will only grant him the barest hint of a touch, a hand on his shoulder before he melts into shadow.

It’s enough to drive a man insane. Jack doesn’t hold out much hope for himself. Pitch appears in the doorway and Jack gives himself whiplash with how quickly he turns to look at him.

He can’t die can’t _leave_ and all he has is Pitch.

 

_(follow up to 34) 60. Wake up in a dream, frozen fear, all your hands on me. I can't scream, I can't scream._

Jack had never followed the rules. ‘Don’t talk to strangers’ was the one he had the biggest problem with. How do you make friends if you never talk to anyone new?

He had never hated himself more for his blind trust in humanity.

The car ride was a blur of lights on the windshield and the feeling of his stomach trying to uproot itself and launch out of his throat. He was terrified, and when the car stopped he thought his heart had too. Pitch got out of the driver’s side and Jack’s hands tensed. He froze in place when all he wanted to do was bolt. He wanted to run, needed to run, but he didn’t even know where he was. He didn’t have a cell phone or anything to get in contact with someone and the only person who might have had an idea of where he was would be Aster. Aster had probably called the cops already. Maybe they would find him in time _(in time for what?)._

The passenger door opened and Jack flinched. Pitch peered down at him, waiting.

There was nothing he could do.

Jack stood up and allowed Pitch to lead him inside.

 

_61\. You'll never know the way your words have haunted me, I can't believe you'd ask these things of me, you don't know me_

If there was one thing Bunnymund and Jack agreed on, it was that he wasn’t Guardian material. This was absolutely ridiculous and Jack didn’t understand why now, why are they only noticing him _now?_ It wasn’t fair. He’d tried everything, done everything he could to get them to see him. To get anyone to see him. And after three hundred years of wasted efforts, the goddamn _moon_ just has to play shadow puppets and the Guardians are falling at his feet.

It was preposterous. It was infuriating.

Then Bunnymund had the gall to make a crack at Jack’s nonexistent believer status and he was just. So. _Done_. He slammed his fist into Bunnymund’s nose. He knew that the Pooka would have taken him down if he’d expected the blow, so the look of shock on his face was worth the aching hand.

“None of you know the first thing about children, or about _belief_.” Jack spat out. Tooth had a hand on Bunnymund’s shoulder to keep him from launching himself at Jack, and no one else had made a move towards him yet so he continued to speak. “I may not have been around as long as you but I spent three centuries trying to get someone to speak to me. Just one person. Just one child who could see and believe in me. All you have to do is leave stupid eggs or coins or…or toys or dreams and I’ve done everything in my power. _Everything_. And the moment the stupid moon gives you an order you deign me worthy of your attention? Did you really think I’d agree to be a part of your exclusive little club?” He had never spoken this much at once and never in front of an audience this big, an audience that could see and hear him. Jack’s voice cracked slightly.

“You’re wrong, and none of you know a damn thing about me.” _I don’t even know who I am._ "I believed in you. I looked up to you. But you all turned out to be a bunch of old fogies who could really care less. Thanks, guys, for proving to me that there really is no stock in _belief_."

No one stopped him as he left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because of the collab I'm doing with Lindz it was REALLY HARD not to write all about Tremble ahaha. Pitch still wormed his way in and acted like a fucked up creep.


	16. 62

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay this will probably need editing later so feel free to point out mistakes.

_(follow up to 20/38/43) 62. Come on skinny love just last the year, pour a little salt, we were never here_

Siberia wasn’t a small area. It was, in fact, over half of Russia with the Ural Mountains separating the region from the rest of the country. Going unprepared into western Russia midwinter was suicide, numerous wars had proven that. Going into Siberia during one of the worst winters of the century, prepared or not, was plain stupidity.

Bunny’s intelligence wasn’t in question, though his determination certainly was. Even with his feet bound in cloth and an ill-fitting coat with holes cut for his ears, the wind was biting and his fur was frosted with ice crystals. He had to be close. This was where the storm was strongest, where the snow fell hardest and wind howled loudest. The air tasted bitter and this wasn’t a natural event, this was a supernatural creation and the emotions that rode on the currents were like needles digging into the skin beneath his fur. He prickled from the inside out and thought to himself _‘how could I have missed this?’._

There was no one for miles. Siberia was sparsely inhabited to begin with, and of course Jack had chosen the most inhospitable climate for his home. Bunny ducked through snow banks, using the tunnels when he could and braving the wind when he couldn’t. He’d already been driven snow blind once, and that had cost him a precious hour where he had been forced to sit in a tunnel until his eyes stopped burning. North and Sandy were searching the skies, probably not faring any better than Bunny. It was a white out. Tooth hadn’t been able to join at all, her body unable to withstand the harsh wind and snow. If only her fairies were a bit sturdier--no, nothing could be done for it, he shouldn’t be so bitter. Jack didn’t need bitterness. He needed _help._

A dark shape in the distance caught his eye. It faded in and out of sight as the flurries of snow whirled around him, but Bunny was hopeful (he was always hopeful, he had to be) that whatever it was would lead him to Jack. Somewhere far above him he heard the shifting of dreamsand, but he couldn’t see it through the snow. Bunny continued on his own, praying to the gods he had once believed in for a chance. Just this once, just this once let me be in time. Let me save him. Let me do for him what I couldn’t do for the others _(for his family his friends his home the ones he had failed the ones he had lost)._

It’s a cabin, ramshackle and nearly encased in ice. The wind tore at Bunny’s coat, tried to drag him away, but he pushed forward. He could do this, he could fix this, he could make it in time. The door was covered with a solid sheet of ice and Bunny pounded at it with his fists and feet to no avail. Jack had frozen it shut, a solid wall between himself and the rest of the world.

He’d forgotten the window, though. Bunny used one of his boomerangs to pry it open and scrambled through before the wind could shove him away. The cabin was dark except for a battery powered lantern on the rotted table. It was only slightly warmer inside but at least there wasn’t any wind or snow. Bunny almost didn’t see Jack in the half-light, actually glanced past him before he realized that Jack was there.

“Jack?” It came out as a weak whisper. Jack didn’t respond. He was faded, somehow duller, ashen and frail. Bunny moved towards the pallet Jack was laying on and stooped to touch him. He had to be sleeping. Had to be, he couldn’t be dead, he couldn’t be too late.

His paw passed right through Jack’s shoulder. Bunny felt the air go out of his lungs and his stomach twisted. “Jack!”

For a moment it was sickeningly quiet. Then Jack opened his eyes and stared up at him, expression strangely neutral. Bunny leaned back on his haunches, a million things running through his mind. He wasn’t too late, Jack is alive, things are going to be fine, _why wasn’t Jack saying anything?_

“You alright, mate?” Of all the things to say. Bunny winced and waited for a response. Jack sat up, painfully slow, and that’s when Bunny noticed that Jack wasn’t just faded, he was _translucent._

“I didn’t think you’d find me.” Jack said cautiously, his eyes somehow looking through Bunny rather than at him.

“We’ve been trying to find you. All of us. We’ve been worried, you should have seen Tooth. And imagine how North feels, after what you decided to do with the information he gave you!” He didn’t mean to yell but his voice rose with panic, and Jack finally, finally reacted.

“Have you ever considered my feelings?”

“What?” Bunny reeled back, surprised, and Jack slowly stood up.

“Have you ever considered my feelings?” Jack repeated. “Look, I...appreciate that you came out here. I really do.” He smiled and it looked wrong on his face, too sharp and bitter, too sad. “But it’s a little late.” Bunny straightened up and Jack had to tilt his head to look him in the eye _(and was he always so small was he always so **young** )._

They didn’t say anything for a long moment. Bunny was at a loss for words. Then Jack laughed a little too hard and raised a hand. It passed through Bunny’s chest and it was like a cold breeze travelling inside his ribcage.

“Who’d have thought that all you needed to do was believe hard enough.” Jack whispered, and he was fading, he was barely a glimmer in the faint light and Bunny cried out as he tried to reach for Jack _(he had to hold him here he had to make him stay he had to)._

Jack smiled again, a little more genuinely. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out.

And then he was gone. No trace of him could be seen, and even the storm outside had quieted. He had been completely wiped out.

Bunny had lost Jack.

_(He had failed his family again.)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that ends the 20/38/43 suicide arc.


	17. 63

_63\. And it's not a cry that you hear at night, it's not somebody who's seen the light, it's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah_

Breathe 

just  
 _breathe_

He clutches at his chest, his face, his hair, tries to quell the tears that are threatening to spill over. 

_Breathe_

His inhales are broken gasps and he tries to keep calm, keep steady, _it’s okay Jack it’s going to be fine_ but there are only so many lies he can tell himself tonight. 

_Breathe_

His throat is tight and he whines as his body reacts without his permission, shoulders shaking and tears escaping as he blinks. He knew it would happen, it has happened every year since he remembered that day so long ago, but the mourning period never really ends. 

_**Brea-**_

He sobs, and he lets himself because he can’t deny himself this one thing. He rolls onto his side and curls up, shuddering beneath the weight of the memories and the incredible sense of loss that overwhelms him. 

He never got to say goodbye. He never got closure, never got the answers he wanted. They were gone, _of course they were it had been three hundred years_ , but he had never gotten the chance to say goodbye. 

They are gone and he was gone and he understands, now, he understands the black funeral wear and the headstones and the pain that his family must have gone through that day he fell beneath the ice. They must have mourned him, as he continuously mourns them, and it never gets any easier. 

“I’m sorry.” He cries. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry...” 

Apologies don’t mean anything. He knows that it’s not his fault he died, and it’s not his fault that they died. 

But you always wonder. _What could have gone differently? How might things have gone if this one thing had never happened?_

He would have watched them grow old and die, just as they did without him there to see it, and nothing would have changed. 

But he would have lived. And he would have been there with them, through good and bad, come what may. He should have been there. 

Jack curls up in the snow and sobs until the tears run out and he is aching inside. He has given everything. 

He waits for the anniversary of his death to pass, knowing that next year it would be the same as before. 

It never gets easier. 

Death never does. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so this is an extremely personal drabble so any critique should be kept to yourself, and I will not be expanding on this idea unless I feel up to it so don't ask.


	18. 64-65

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yooooo I haven't written anything new but here are some drabbles I sent to Frosty-Maggie on tumblr a while back.

64.

It’s somewhere in his fiftieth year and this shouldn’t bother him so much, it shouldn’t affect him and it certainly shouldn’t hurt. But it does, and he can’t even bring himself to look away. Things would be easier if he left, but he cares too much. He can’t abandon them _(like he was abandoned)._

It’s harder with kids. They don’t know better and they have even less of a chance in the freezing cold than the adults do. They wander into the woods, all good intentions, but when the trees are barren the landscape changes and it’s far too easy to get turned around. Familiar landmarks are hidden beneath snow, _Jack’s snow_ , and the way home is lost. He urges them to follow their footprints back to the edge of the woods, tries to stop the snowfall, but he can’t make the day last longer and sometimes it’s too late.

That’s when he sits with them and waits. He had learned his lesson the first few times- his hands pass through them and they shiver from the cold that pierces straight through their bones. He knows better than to try and warm them. He is ice, and frost, and bitter cold. At night he is deadly. But he stays, and waits, and hums lullabies until they close their eyes.

Sometimes the adults find them in time. Sometimes it takes days. Sometimes no one finds them until spring, their bodies suspiciously frozen, preserved like slumbering dolls.

Jack knows better. All he can do is make them cold.

But he does what he can for those left behind.

 

65.

It’s freezing and his limbs are growing weaker. No matter how hard he tries he can’t claw his way to the surface. He hears her muffled screams and it’s like summer, when they are swimming and he jokingly pulls her beneath the water. He wants to be there next summer, wants to make her laugh and cry and wear flowers in her hair.

With a desperate rush of adrenaline he breaks the surface, gasps for air, and her screams are loud and piercing for a brief moment before he falls back into the water. He tries to keep his eyes open but the freezing cold practically _burns._

His legs go numb. He can’t feel them kicking in futility beneath him, doesn’t know if they’re kicking at all anymore. There isn’t enough air and the light above him is getting further away. He can hear a faint pounding in the distance, coupled with his name like some parodied Indian song the others used to mockingly sing.

The feeling in his fingers is the last to go and his chest is tight from the withheld air. It’s going black at the edges of his vision and he’s so scared- scared for his sister, who is still screaming above him, pounding the ice so loudly that it feels like a heartbeat in the water. He’s scared to die, too, but there’s also acceptance as the air finally forces its way out of his lungs and lets the water in.

The pounding and the screaming fades.

_“Jack!”_

_“…Jack!”_

_”….ck…..”_

He wakes up with a heartbeat like fists on the ice and when he breaks through the surface he can’t quite place why the sound of cracking ice is so terrifying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll have to edit these later but for now they'll do.


	19. 66-68

_(Follow up to 50.) 66. I never knew just what it was about this old coffee shop I love so much, all of the while, I never knew it was you_

The cafe doesn’t pay well and he has to pick up a second part-time job at the bar down the road, but Jack can’t leave. At first it’s because he likes his job, and then it becomes...something else.

He still likes working there, likes being friendly and playing jokes on rude customers and chatting with the regulars. But there’s a very specific reason that he sticks around and as college graduation grows ever nearer, Jack begins to panic.

He hasn’t even told Aster how much he likes him and the big dumb idiot won’t look at him long enough for Jack to get a reading on him. They haven’t been able to sit down and talk like they used to, not with finals and frantic job searches keeping Jack busy during the countdown. He’s had a few leads, a few schools and daycares interested in taking him on as teacher’s aide or a caretaker, but with so little time for anything aside from work and school he hasn’t even been able to fit an interview into his schedule. Jack’s at the end of his rope and it’s starting to fray.

He’s at the coffee shop when it finally snaps, leaving him a washed up mess behind the counter. It’s just before closing and Jack’s curled up on the floor by the cash register, trying to breathe as his chest heaves and his eyes sting. He hasn’t had a panic attack in months and he feels like he’s dying, like he’s having a heart attack, and it isn’t long before the tears start coming. He begins to hyperventilate, inhales and exhales too quickly. He feels like he’s going to throw up. He chokes on a sob and gets lightheaded from the lack of air. Jack knows he’s going to die here, all alone under the goddamn counter at the coffee shop. He’d laugh if he could.

The bell above the door rings.

“Jack?” Aster’s voice calls out, and Jack shuts his eyes as his chest heaves for an entirely different reason.

He tries to answer but he only manages a soft whine, a hand flying out and knocking something over on the counter. He hears Aster curse and walk over, quick steps over the linoleum, and Jack startles when Aster jumps over the counter. His back is too him but Jack sees the way his shoulders are tensed and he manages another pathetic noise, more like a sob than the greeting he’d intended. Aster turns, narrowed eyes widening at Jack’s state.

“Oh, Jack...” He hesitantly reaches out, waiting for Jack to pull away, and when Jack doesn’t Aster pulls him into his arms and wraps himself around him. “Just breathe, mate, I’ve got you. I’ve got you, Jack.”

It takes a while before Jack can get his breathing under control again, soothed by the hand rubbing his back, and it takes even longer for the tears to subside. His eyes are puffy and sore when he finally pulls back, hands on Aster’s shoulders to hold him in place.

“Sorry.” He apologizes right away. Aster opens his mouth, probably to argue, and Jack cuts him off before he can start. “Thank you. For being here. It’s been...kind of a shitty day.”

“Shoulda called in sick.” Aster sighs, and Jack frowns.

“I need the money, I can’t afford a sick day right now.” He needs to pay the deposit for the apartment he plans on leasing, and right now he’s still short on the first rent payment.

“Not you. Me.” Aster says. “I was gonna take the day off. I know it’s your last day at work. I wanted to...to spend some more time with you. Or something.” He looks uncomfortable and Jack can’t help the hopeful smile that spreads over his face.

“Or something?” He laughs, his voice still hoarse.

“Or something.” Aster confirms, and he’s smiling too and their faces are getting closer and Jack finally just goes for it and kisses him. Aster doesn’t pull away. He even does the opposite and gets closer, his mouth moving slowly against Jack’s.

The bells above the door ring again and Jack jolts, bumping his head on the bottom of the counter. He swears as Aster laughs at him.

“Jerk.” Jack mutters, and he shuts Aster up with another kiss before standing up. Sandy is standing at the door with the shop keys in his hand, ready to perform his closing duties as manager. Jack gives him a sheepish smile as Aster stands up behind him and yelps at the sight of Jack’s boss.

Sandy just smiles and rolls his eyes before tossing Jack the keys.

 _Close up for me._ He signs, and Jack signs back his gratitude in the form of a huge dopey smile. Aster coughs after Sandy leaves and Jack turns to face him, smile still in place, and Aster’s expression softens.

“I’m not leaving town, you know.” Jack relishes in Aster’s dumbfounded look. “I’m graduating school, getting a job here, and an apartment. I’m keeping my job at the bar, too, so make sure you visit me there. And if you want to maybe see me outside of work, for once...” He shrugs one shoulder, looking almost bashful.

“A date, you mean?”

“If you want it to be. I’d like that.”

“Me too.” Aster says quietly, and Jack grins so wide that his face starts hurting. He’s still got a lot of work to do, he’s not out of the thick of things yet, but...it’ll be bearable, now.

“I swear though, if you take me to this coffee shop I’ll rip you a new one.” That startles a laugh out of Aster and soon enough Jack is cackling as he pulls Aster in for another kiss.

 

_67\. Michigan's in the rearview now, keep your hands where I can see them, you took the words right out of my mouth when you knew that I would need them_

“We _never_ should have trusted you!”

The words almost hurt more than the paw that catches him on the jaw, snapping his head to the side and drawing out a surprised sound. It’s completely silent after that. No one says a word. All of the excuses on Jack’s tongue slide back down his throat.

He’s speechless. He doesn’t move his head, just stares wide-eyed at the trees to his right as his jaw aches. He’ll bruise in a day or two, mottled purple and red and eventually yellow. It won’t heal for a few weeks. A mark of his betrayal.

This really doesn’t hurt as much as the silence, the tenseness. No one had moved to defend Jack and no one says a word for him now. He finally looks back at Bunny, who appears almost surprised by his own violent reaction. He’s looking between Jack and the paw that he’d swung at him, eyes wide and disbelieving. Jack can’t face North or Tooth, can’t see their expressions. His gut twists and he tries to smile but his jaw hurts too much.

“I really do make a mess of everything.” He says, more to himself than the others, and when he turns away no one stops him.

The wind picks up him up and as he leaves he doesn’t dare look back.

(He’ll meet Pitch in Antarctica, will turn him down, will regain his memories, will find Jamie and save them all.

But when they ask him, he refuses to be a Guardian.

He can’t be trusted, after all.)

 

_(Follow up to 61.) 68. The clouds move over Pontiac skies. their silent thunder matches mine, I know this feeling from long ago, I wonder ‘was it gone’ and now I know_

Jack is familiar with belief. It’s something he’s held onto for centuries: belief that he’ll find a purpose, belief that he can be more than this, belief that someday things will go right for him.

He’s more familiar with the lack of belief. Children not seeing him, other spirits brushing him off, the Guardians ignoring him. It’s nothing new. But that doesn’t mean that it ever stops hurting.

Sharp words aren’t much different than having a child walk through you, if the words are chosen just right. Bunnymund knows what hope is--Jack figures that means he could read Jack’s hopes back in the workshop. That’s how he knew to strike where it hurt. Damn good job, too, taking a crack at his failure to gain believers. It wasn’t like he hadn’t tried. He’d done everything. He’d sat in homes and talked to people, had joined kids on field trips, had held entire conversations with someone that couldn’t even hear or see him.

Three hundred years of almost solitary existence would drive any spirit insane, really. Jack is just lucky that he has optimism and an incredible capacity for avoiding negative emotions. He still has them, of course, but he shoves them so far down inside himself that if he tried to dredge them up now he’d probably snow in half of the United States east coast and then some.

His knuckles are bruised.

Jack stares at them, the purpling marks forming where he’d made contact with Bunnymund’s surprisingly hard nose. It’s lucky for the big rabbit that his nose hadn’t started bleeding, though Jack viciously wishes that it had. Would have left a lasting second impression for sure, since the blizzard of ‘68 had already been a wonderful first. That blizzard had been an accident, even. It’s not like Jack had meant to snow out the midwest, the storm was already coming and his carelessness hadn’t helped much. He would have apologized if Bunnymund had let him get a word in edgewise.

Jack folds his hand into a fist and punches it into the snow, knowing the cold would stop the swelling even if he can’t feel it. He wonders what the Guardians are doing now. It’s only been a day, but he hasn’t seen hide, hair, or feather.

Or sand, come to think of it.

Jack frowns and stands up to stretch. He’d wandered through a few cities but hadn’t stuck around, none too keen on the Guardians nabbing and bagging him again. Only now does he realize that it was strange the night before, when he hadn’t seen any fairies or dreamsand in the sky. The night was always the most active. Instead it had been strangely dead. Jack calls the wind and rides her to the nearest city, Anchorage.

There isn’t a single fairy in sight. What’s stranger is that it’s perfectly dark, even with the lights on. Everything is....dim. Jack touches down on a rooftop and frowns. What’s wrong with the Guardians? Why aren’t they doing their jobs? For a moment guilt bubbles up in his stomach but he shoves it down. This has nothing to do with him. If the Guardians are neglecting their duties, that’s their problem. They’d made it clear that he wasn’t really wanted, aside from the moon’s selfish demand.

But worry gets the better of him and Jack finds himself on the wind again, heading for North’s Workshop. He knows there’s a weak spot now, he’d seen it from the inside, and he goes crashing through a small unattended window in the globe room. It’s quiet. No alarms are going off, no yetis are rushing him. There aren’t even any elves wandering underfoot.

The globe is dim. There aren’t nearly as many lights as before and Jack holds back a cry of surprise as at least twenty lights blink out right before his eyes. What’s happening? He uses the wind to jump on top of the globe, balancing on the rounded surface with ease as he crouches down to examine the lights more carefully. The believers are shrinking in number. But why?

“Jack Frost?” Someone calls out, and Jack nearly goes stumbling off the globe. The wind catches him and lowers him to the floor as he looks around for the source of the voice. There’s no one there, at least no one he can see.

The shadows shift and a dark figure walks out. Jack holds his staff in front of himself as his shoulders stiffen.

“Pitch Black?” He asks, uncertain, though he knows that the figure before him is definitely the Boogeyman. Pitch smiles and it’s more like a sneer.

“My, my. How strange to find you here. Come to cause mischief for dear old Santa Claus? I’m afraid I’ve beaten you to the punch, Jack.”

“What do you mean?” Jack can feel his stomach clenching with guilt again, accompanied by a sinking feeling.

“Why do you care?” Pitch counters. “Since when were you ‘buddies’ with the Guardians? Last I heard you were messing up egg hunts and icing rooftops on Christmas.”

“None of your business.” Jack snaps. “What did you do, Pitch?”

The smile Pitch gives him is all the answer he needs. Jack feels his knees go weak and his staff is the only thing holding him up now.

“Don’t you see the lights, Jack? The children don’t believe anymore. And you know how that feels, don’t you. Children running through you like a ghost.” Pitch spits out the last word like a curse, but his smile is back in an instant. “I’m just giving the Guardians a taste of what we’ve suffered, Jack. They’ll finally understand what we’ve been through. Isn’t that wonderful?”

Jack stomps on the thrill of satisfaction that courses through him. He’d wanted them to understand, hadn’t he? He’d wanted them to hurt like he had. But...not like this.

“What have you done?” Jack asks again, this time more subdued. Pitch’s smile fades a little as he watches Jack, taking in his dumbstruck features and the death grip he has on his staff.

“Created a Pitch Black world.” He says, just as quietly as Jack had spoken. “There is no hope, or wonder, or light. Certainly no light, now.” He gestures at the globe and Jack risks a glance backwards. There are only a few lights scattered across the world now, mainly in Western Europe and the Eastern US coast, as though Pitch’s fear had been spreading around the globe in a methodical wave.

“You’re nuts.” Jack steps back, away from Pitch and away from the globe, his mind already running. Where could the Guardians have gone? “What did you do with the others?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Pitch hisses. “If you get in my way you can join them in their misery, at least until all the believers finally disappear and the Guardians are merely shells of their former selves. Or...” He trails off and Jack does not like the look he receives, cold and calculating.

“I’m not joining you.” 

“Aren’t you?” Pitch grins and Jack doesn’t have time to cry out before a shadow wraps itself around his face and covers his mouth and eyes. Hand come to rest on his shoulders and he blindly swings his staff, throwing frost lightning that gets a pained hiss before the staff is wrenched from his hands. Jack’s heart is beating faster than it ever has before and he shouts against the gag on his mouth, but he can’t do anything as his hands and legs around restrained by more of the shadows.

“This will be _fun.”_


	20. 69-70

_69\. Don't forget your own wilderness wish that gets buried in snow, call it 'home', it's lumber and stone, trapped, stranded and free...this is not like home_

He’s forgotten something. It’s not the empty sort of forgetting, like when he couldn’t remember his life before becoming Jack Frost. That sort of forgetting was hollow, a portion of his head left jarringly open like a room no one bothered to move into despite an overly cluttered house. He had never found the right sort of things to fill that space with, but now that he remembers who he was it is not nearly so empty.

This current sort of forgetting has Jack frowning at the grey night sky. It’s never fully dark in winter, as though the clouds have sucked up the light. It’s likely the pollution from the city, the suburban sky is never as clear and open as the countryside’s, but it feels safer somehow. Sandy’s dreamsand is nowhere to be seen but this doesn’t strike Jack as odd. He presses his palms to the rooftop that he is perched on and the texture feels strange but he is too preoccupied to notice.

It is quiet and snow is falling gently over the houses of Burgess. Jack tries to remember what it is that he has forgotten, is nearly tempted to seek out the weirdly absent tooth fairies, but he knows that the answer isn’t with his baby teeth. If only he could just _remember--_

 

Pitch watches Jack’s chest rise and fall with each breath.

“Forget everything.” He murmurs, and Jack’s eyes flicker rapidly beneath his eyelids, but the boy does not wake.

 

\--Jack reels, suddenly dizzy. He sits on the roof and tries to catch his breath.

He can’t remember what he was doing, or what he was looking for, or why the idea of such a quiet night made him so uncomfortable.

He stares at the grey sky with its falling snow and feels content.

 

 

_(Follow up to #55) 70. You're all the things that fall from the sky, the sun, the rain, the moon, the light, babe  
So come on down to this earthly being, and I'll hold you close when you're in need, babe_

He isn’t used to living in a house. He remembers things, sometimes, snatches of memory that leave him dazed and shaking. They happen most often in the kitchen, when Kozmotis and Seraphina are cooking. The smells are what trigger the memories, the scent of cinnamon or pancakes or chicken. Jack is torn between wanting to lock himself in the pantry or avoiding the kitchen all together. He can’t deny that it’s terrifying. Everything is overlapping and sometimes he can’t tell which memories are real or just dreams.

On occasion he wakes up in the morning in full blown panic, tearing his room apart in search of something he cannot name. Sometimes he is frightened of his own hands, larger than the ones he remembers and yet still so much smaller than Kozmotis’. One night in the kitchen Seraphina presses their palms flat together and Jack curves the tips of his fingers over hers. She smiles at him, a thin jagged thing that still dregs up some familiar feelings of comfort.

“You’re not so different from who you used to be, you know. Memories aside, these are the hands that once held mine. I know your hands.” She says as she laces their fingers together. Her nails are chipped and dirty from gardening and her skin is rough but warm. Her mature face is superimposed with the round youthfulness of a little girl Jack thinks he might have known.

“I know your hands.” He echoes, because he can remember the times when his hands felt warm for no reason while he was dreaming. Seraphina’s smile grows softer, and she squeezes before releasing him. Kozmotis watches the exchange from where he is chopping vegetables at the counter, and Jack is distracted by the way his hands handle the knife. He tries to exhale the memories of those hands with a much more dangerous weapon, cleaving through the dark rather than stalks of celery. His stomach churns and Jack excuses himself from the table, fists clenched tight with the memory of warmth trapped within them.

The smell of thick stew permeates the house and Jack is torn between worlds, memories of a colonial family hearth and a modern chrome kitchen clashing in his head.

He presses his hands to his cheeks, palms flat and fingers splayed, and holds on to the phantom pain of another’s hands holding his own while he dreamed.


	21. 71-72

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unapologetically inspired by chapter 25 of Not Poignant's _Into Shadows We Fall._

_71\. (inspired by Varúð by Sigur Ros, which apparently translates into ‘Warning’ and is very bittersweet)_

“If it were possible,” he whispers, “I would weave the stars into your hair and take the light of the moon and put it in your eyes. I would put the rings of Saturn on your fingers and bottle the Milky Way into earrings. Your clothes would be made of stardust and even then, none of that would be as beautiful as you.”

Seraphina sleeps on, a tiny thing in his arms with a shock of dark hair as wild as his own. Her little face is severe even at this age, when her bones are still soft and muscles still weak. He knows she will become a fierce beauty, just like her mother.

He watches her grow, small hands losing their softness and wobbly legs becoming sturdy even when scraped and bruised. Seraphina has a sharp smile and quick wit, is far too clever for her own good, and beats up the visiting boys when they insist she play the princess in their games. He couldn’t be more proud of her, a volatile force of nature in her own right.

She sits as still as she can as he pins her unruly hair with bits of gemstone. Her dress is golden and she is adorned with jewelry that once belonged to her mother, when she had been Seraphina’s age. She is radiant, but as she looks in the mirror she makes a face and pulls one wild lock of hair straight up from the top of her head.

“I look like a dog in a queen’s gown.” Seraphina complains. He laughs and pulls her to him, kissing her forehead and holding her close. She is not so small as she was then, but she is a fragile thing in his arms.

“None of this is as beautiful as you are.” He says, and he feels her shy smile against his cheek.

 

He remembers tearing down the stars and crushing the particles into his hair, bits of black hole absorbing the light. He remembers shrouding the moon in darkness and sweeping across the Milky Way with unrestrained rage. He follows the trails of dreamsand, golden stardust, and rips into them.

He does not remember a little girl holding his hands as they danced beneath the rings of Saturn, their wild dark hair falling into their eyes and their identical sense of humor bringing sharp smiles to their faces.

 

_72\. Don't resent me and when you're feeling empty keep me in your memory, leave out all the rest_

Pitch Black does not feel things like love, nostalgia, or pure joy. Those are the things Kozmotis feels, and they do not belong to Pitch.

But the memories that also belong to Kozmotis sometimes seep through and Pitch remembers things that are not his own. He remembers a woman with birdlike laughter and thin hands that twine with his own, and a child who wraps her arms around his knees and wails for him to stay. There are gardens of plants he knows will never grow again, arm wrestling in the taverns of far off ports, arguing with stall owners over the price of useless trinkets.

These are not his memories. He is not Kozmotis Pitchiner.

He remembers these things that are not his own anyway.


	22. Chapter 22

_73\. We are wild, we are like young volcanoes, we are wild, Americana, exotica, do you wanna feel a little beautiful baby?_

Death is not always some loud, dramatic affair. Mourners in the streets, candle light vigils, weeping over tombstones--those happen after.

The man who draws a crowd before he flings himself from the roof of a building, the woman who was killed overseas in a televised warning, they are not the majority.

There was a boy who slipped beneath the ice, with only two witnesses. It was a mostly quiet affair. He fell into the water with hardly a sound, just a noise of surprise before he went under. His sister might have screamed, he didn’t know, he couldn’t hear anything aside from his own panicked heartbeat. The moon had been silent.

It hadn’t made much of an impact, at the time.

It was the things that happened after that made him into legend.

 

_74\. So this is actually an older piece that I wrote immediately after finishing NotPoignant’s From The Darkness We Rise. It was my reaction to the final chapter before I started reading Into Shadow We Fall, and I wanted to post it somewhere. I figured Carousel would be a good place for it. I titled it Stone’s Throw, not that it matters haha. This is just my interpretation of Jack after the final chapter of FtDWR, so it has no bearing on NP’s Jack._

He has never put much stock in promises. They are easily twisted, easily broken. Words can’t compare to actions, in Jack’s experience, but it doesn’t make them hurt any less. The most positive experiences of his life have involved actions. Hugs, held hands, kisses, arms around his waist and shoulders, the rise and fall of a chest in the dark.

The wounds that have cut the deepest were carved with words, tongue lashing injuries that have yet to stop bleeding.

_I’m not going anywhere._

Jack doesn’t believe in anyone.

\--

 

The memory of warmth is what carries him through the night, and it’s not so different from the nightmares that Mora used to bring. He has to sleep more often than before and usually he doesn’t dream at all, but when he does it’s of scorching hands that turn to ash when he reaches out for them. They aren’t really nightmares, he doesn’t fear them and they don’t make him cry out in terror.

But all the same he opens his eyes to find the remnants of tears on his cheeks, sticking his eyelashes to his cheeks and forcing him to rub at his face with a sleeve.

Sleep is his only reprieve now. The press of rough bark against his back and the wind rustling the branches around him, icicles chiming a lullaby, getting lost in the pattern of his own unnecessary breathes. He doesn’t really welcome the dreams but they are better than nothing.

(He feels the cold more starkly than ever before.)

\--

 

Jack watches the grains of Mora spin haphazardly on the wind, moving not unlike a swarm of gnats. Fragile, thrown off by the breeze. Intangible. He raises a hand and the sand caresses his skin, but Mora isn’t yet a solid mass. She won’t be for a long while yet, although Sandy has been doing his best. Jack can’t ask for more.

He wants to but he won’t. He’s not as selfish as that.

Sandy offers a tired smile that Jack can’t return, but he closes his eyes and lays back on the dreamsand cloud that they share. Mora’s pieces brush his cheek and there is a twinge of fear.

There isn’t much to be afraid of these days. There’s just sorrow, and the gaping hole inside him that widens every day.

\--

 

Bunnymund makes good on his threat (a threat because it had been violent, it had been made to hurt) and when he catches Jack alone he opens his big stupid mouth without a second thought.

“I told you so.” And Jack wants to turn to him and tear him a new one, wants to frost that stupid rabbity face over with a layer of jagged ice, wants to break and hurt and scream.

Instead he folds over his staff, pressing the sharp edges of the locket to his chest

“How do you deal with loss?” He asks, voice small and trembling. Bunnymund is quiet for a long moment and Jack almost thinks that he’s left, having said and done his part. Then Jack feels a subtle warmth against his back, the sort that comes from close proximity without actually touching, and he would give anything to feel Pitch’s hand against his shoulder.

“You haven’t lost everything.”

“No?” Jack laughs and it feels hollow in his chest, wind rattling in an empty room. “It feels like it. Jamie, Mora, Pi-” 

“You have us.” Bunnymund cuts in gruffly, and this time when Jack laughs it’s a much harsher sound.

“Sorry if I don’t take much comfort in that. You weren’t there when I needed you.” He knows he’s being childish but the hurt doesn’t leave, the ache doesn’t go away.

He doesn’t feel bad when he gets up and walks off, not once looking back.

\--

 

North tries to be the voice of reason but between the cinnamon cookies sitting uneaten on the table and the books laying open beside them, Jack finds it hard to pay attention.

“Bunny understands, he does not mean to be so harsh. He know grief, Jack.”

“Then why does he suck so bad at showing it?” Jack snaps. North has that sad look on his face, the one that Jack immediately translates into disappointment despite knowing that it’s the furthest thing from what North is actually feeling.

“He is worried. We all are.” Despite the placating tone, Jack only tenses up. Guilt washes through him, a steady wave that pushes out the anger and leave him with remorse.

“Sorry. I’m sorry. I think I should just go, I’ll see you around.” He bounds out the open window before North can respond, and he squeezes his eyes shut as North’s calls follow him on the wind.

\--

 

Jack finds rather quickly that there’s nowhere to run to when he leaves the Workshop. His shack was compromised long ago, and Kostroma--he can’t return there. It’s not safe to wander alone, he’ll admit that much, but it doesn’t stop him from riding the currents of the wind until he’s lost his way somewhere over the Atlantic. He doesn’t want to think anymore.

He freefalls about two thousand feet before the wind snatches him up again, saltwater lapping at his heels. The adrenaline rush isn’t enough to kickstart the laughter he’d been hoping for.

The hole in his soul feels so wide that wind might just go rushing through it, taking whatever’s left with it. Admittedly, there isn’t much.

He wants to go home, but home had become Pitch’s room at the Workshop. Home was Kostroma, laying warm in bed with the windows thrown open. 

Home doesn’t exist anymore.


End file.
